High Tide
by shenayeelizabeth
Summary: The tides are turning in Westeros, war has been brewing for many years and it will finally spill over as the Dragon Queen finally sets sail to take back her throne from the lions that covet it. Highly AU. Robb/OC, Sansa/Tyrion, Daenerys/Khal Drogo
1. I

**Um hi, thank you for clicking on this story. I should probably have you know that I'm more anxious than anything to be publishing a Game of Thrones story, especially one with an OC and so AU as it is. I should probably warn you now that updates may be infrequent but please enjoy and tell me what you think.**

 **Anyway more onto the story. This idea came to me suddenly and I can't remember how, but I all of a sudden thought of Pirate!Robb and while he may not be much of a pirate right now I'll go into that later.**

 **But this story is set eleven years after the death of Ned Stark, that makes Robb 27, Sansa 25, Arya 23, Bran 21 and Rickon 17. What you need to know is that after his father died Robb abandoned his duty, he became King in the North but instead decided to set sail for the seas. That means there was no Red Wedding and Catelyn is still alive.**

 **Also Drogo is still alive too for the purpose of this story, as is Rhaego and they have two other sons.**

 **I do hope you enjoy this story, thank you so much for reading and apologies if there are any mistakes.**

* * *

 **I**

 **ROBB**

 **NAKED** as the day he was born, Robb Stark stood in the window and anyone who looked up could see the sight of his body. Yet there was no shame in the man of twenty and seven's stance. His back was toned with muscles as was his entire body, but the muscles of his back rippled as his arms stretched above his head. The whore behind him stretched, blinking happily as she peered at the back of the man she had spent the night with and had paid her handsomely. She slipped from the bed, grasping the bag of coin he had passed to her.

The whore was pretty, light brown hair and eyes the colour of the ocean that surrounded Braavos. Yet, she was not enough to hold attention for Robb Stark. Slipping from the bed, the woman pulled on her gown and combed through her hair with her fingers. Lips pressed together, she turned her head to study the back of the Stark Lord. Back covered in scars from conflicts yet a tattoo that covered almost the entirety of a black, a dragon which was odd. Shivering, she headed to the door and then turned to face him, hand on the door.

"Thank you," she said behind him, "I haven't been shagged that good in a long time."

"Hm," he was distracted, staring out the window.

Looking out at the city of Braavos, Robb crossed his arms over his broad chest and narrowed his eyes. Rumours of a little assassin that roamed the streets of Braavos had Robb Stark suspicious. One description was of a boy no older than ten and two, ten and four at the most, another description of a scrawny little girl. Something inside him was urged to search for his sister, though he thought Arya had died all those years ago when his father had been beheaded. Arya would be twenty and three, no longer a girl but a woman.

Footsteps could be heard from outside the door, yet it could have been anyone in the inn. Robb picked up his trousers that were slung over one of the seats and pulled them up his strong legs. Robb Stark ran his fingers through his red brown curls that could most often be seen tied back at the nape his neck as they brushed the middle of his neck. Robb's blue eyes sharply studied the door as the footsteps stopped behind it. Instinct itched to reach over, clasping his grip on his sword but he remained frozen as someone began pounding on the door heavily.

"Robb!" He heard someone yell behind the door, "There's a letter for you."

Probably from his mother who resided in the Riverlands, waiting impatiently for the day he would rise with an army to take back the North. Yet sailing the high seas and wreaking havoc for King Joffrey suited him just fine, the little rat thought himself better than Robb just because his mother's cunt was golden. Robb Stark moved to slip back on his thin tunic and sat down on the seat to pull on his boots. He picked up his sword and moved to the door, slipping out to face the man he was his first mate, Greatjon Umber.

"Jon," Robb greeted the man. "What did Mother say this time?"

Lady Catelyn Stark was a woman insulted by her son's sudden journey to travel the high seas rather than take back the North. She had lost her sons, her daughters and only had Robb who had left Westeros for the oceans when his father had been suddenly beheaded. The North was overrun by the Boltons who had worked quickly to dispose of any influence from the Starks that were still there. Many of the Northern Lords had turned their backs on the Starks, others had lost their homes and lands to join Robb on his conquest.

Over a decade later Robb still did not feel the urge to return but knew it was only a matter of time. Robb Stark had amassed an army that had begun the day he had stepped foot in Essos. His army consisted of thieves, slaves, noblemen and even several horse lords, Dothraki, which would surely slaughter King Joffrey Baratheon. Yet it was not in Robb Stark's right to slaughter the man, it was up to Queen Daenerys Targaryen, who with her horse lord husband, had reached out to Robb so suddenly that he found himself wondering if he could trust them.

Greatjon Umber was an old ally of the Starks that had sworn fealty to Robb, a debt that could never be repaid. The old man, with his heir, were quick to follow Robb to the seas in a sign of loyalty. The two men towered over Robb who was just above six foot, yet his gaze could often he found looking up at the two men who were fierce warriors. They would never allow Robb to come under any harm even though he was able to fight off offenders himself. Greatjon had become a surrogate father in the wake of the death of his father.

"She is still furious Lady Sansa is married to Lord Tyrion Stark," Greatjon informed his King.

"Still?" Robb rolled his eyes, "It was years ago Sansa was married."

"But your sister refuses to come to her," Greatjon reminded him. "She also demands you return to take back Winterfell."

"Is there any other news?" Robb then asked, "Because it sounds like the same thing she has been complaining about for years."

"Queen Margaery has once again failed to give birth, this time it was a stillborn son," Greatjon was pleased with the progress. King Joffrey was failing to produce a King and growing even more crazed by the years that passed.

They headed out of the brothel, onto the streets of Braavos. Robb Stark avoided the beggars who attempted to reach out to grasp him, only Robb side stepped them and continued to move toward the ports. His ship was one of the largest docked, a silver wolf engraved onto the black sails. The sigil of his house was engraved onto the sails. The ship was made of a deep wood yet they had bought it with coin, off a merchant and they had not looked back since. The ship could wear any weather and was one of the fastest, Robb could not be prouder.

As the owner of the ship he was nicknamed a pirate, yet it was a title he was proud to have. The Young Wolf they called him, some even called him the Wolf Bastard but Robb Stark was not very phased by names. The names were a legend of himself, a fable that took on many rumours that only served to boast the infamy of Robb Stark. People looked to him in fear or appreciation, he found more people looked to him to deal with their fear. What did they expect? Robb would need an army to take back the North and to make sure Joffrey Baratheon did nothing to harm anyone he cared about ever again.

He strode toward the ship, nodding at his men who were up on the deck. Each man was from the North, darkened with time spent in the sun. Some had pink cheeks from the sun, others had spots across their backs or cheeks. Robb's own skin had darkened yet only a little for he was still pale, he still stood out in the streets of Braavos. His head turned as a young man with blonde hair and a nervous twitch in his step moved toward Robb. It was not usual for the men when he had news to tell his King.

"King Robb," Olyvar Frey cleared his throat. "I have received word from my father."

"What does that old bastard want?" Robb asked as he walked into his cabin on the ship, dumping his coat and sword on the chair.

"He demands you return to wed one of my sisters," Olyvar grimaced.

"I do not need his passage any longer, nor his support, and he did not attempt to stop Roose Bolton from taking the North," Robb looked down at a map of Westeros. "I will not marry your sisters."

"Understood Your Grace, I will write him a letter," the blond man moved out of the cabin and Robb Stark placed his hands on the map.

The North had been engulfed by Roose Bolton and his men as soon as Robb had abandoned Westeros and Theon Greyjoy had killed his brothers. Well, attempted to kill them as Rickon was alive and well with his mother and Bran was somewhere passed the wall with the Reed siblings. Robb looked toward the Wall where his other brother, Jon, was the Lord Commander of the Watch. Robb pulled a knife and stabbed it into the marking of Winterfell, his ancestral home that had been overrun by Boltons. He needed it back, while he held them in the palm of his hand, choked, it was not enough.

"Your Grace," the door opened to reveal Smalljon Umber. "A letter," he held it up high, waving it from side to side. "From Daenerys Targaryen."

Smalljon was a man with large stature like his father, very tall with a long, thick beard and hair. Smalljon was a fierce warrior, he could rival his father on his best days but often did not try as he accepted his father's strength. There was a tameness in Smalljon that did not belong to his father, one that had never belonged to the old Lord. Smalljon was also a man who wrote to his mother often, the woman who begged him to return home to reclaim their great seat and marry. It was a beg that most mothers asked of their sons who had followed Robb.

"Hand it over," Robb held out his hand.

Scrawled, messy handwriting consisted of a meeting set for when he arrived in Meereen. Robb enclosed the letter, it had not been written by Daenerys Targaryen, perhaps from one of her many people. Jorah Mormont was rumoured to still be with the Queen, spying for Robert Baratheon. How had that worked when Robert Baratheon was dead? Robb Stark scratched the side of his head, looking briefly back over the map before holstering his sword to his belt and pulling his long, leather coat over his shoulders to head out onto the deck.

"Grey Wind!" He heard someone's exasperation loud and clear as he came onto the deck.

High in the sky the sun beamed over them, it was warm but not warm enough that Robb was urged to pull his coat off. He looked to find his direwolf staring unblinkingly at Dacey Mormont, a tall, tough woman who barely had time for the direwolf. She seemed to be reading through a letter her mother had sent her, Maege had stayed behind when he had set sail, she was attempting to build an army in the Riverlands that were overrun with Lannisters and Lannister loyalists. It was hard for them to build a secret army, especially under the watchful eye of the Boltons and the Lannisters.

Dacey Mormont stood just shy of Robb's height, a tall woman with long limbs and a long face. Her brown hair was lobbed in a short, practical cut that grazed her chin. Dacey was a strangely beautiful woman and only grew more beautiful in a fight and in a dance. She was one of the most loyal to Robb, often backing him yet offering a challenge. There had been a few times Robb had wondered of a marriage between himself and the woman, she was older than him by six years and he was sure Smalljon would gut him if he tried. But Dacey would be a formidable wife and Queen.

"Grey Wind," he whistled and his direwolf trotted over.

"He has been whining all morning," Dacey informed her King as Robb stepped toward her.

"Is that a letter from your mother?" Robb asked.

"No, from my sister," Dacey suddenly smiled. "Lyanna is growing up so quick, she's nine and ten now… it's just so hard to imagine."

"I know," Robb cleared his throat. "Sansa is twenty and five, Rickon seven and ten."

"And Bran?"

"Twenty and one," Robb thought of Bran. Praying to the Old Gods he was safe.

Bran Stark had not been seen since he was thought to have died in Winterfell. The idea had been shattered when Rickon, six years earlier, had arrived at Riverrun dressed in Wildling garbs with Osha. Osha was a Wildling that had sworn fealty to the Starks, keeping both boys protected until Bran had urged the two of them they needed to be safe. Bran was with the children of Howland Reed, Hodor and Summer which offered Robb some sort of hope that his brother was safe.

"A good age," Dacey smiled then looked to the direwolf. "You might want to take him off the ship just before we leave."

Robb motioned for his direwolf to follow him, heading down the runway toward the docks. Merchants turned immediately at the idea of making money but Robb ignored them and Grey Wind was confident enough just to look at the Merchants. It was enough that one look by Grey Wind had the Merchants suddenly scrambling to get away from them both. Robb smirked, following his direwolf through the streets of Braavos. It was so different from Winterfell, much warmer and more crowded than Winterfell had ever been.

Robb Stark made his way through the streets, following Grey Wind who seemed to have caught a scent. Robb decided to humour his direwolf who always found something curious whenever they would arrive in new land, something that could not always be added to their collection but was nonetheless appreciated. He followed after his direwolf, people giving them a wide birth whereas if he did not have his direwolf most of the merchants would be trying to beg him to buy some of their merchandise.

Braavos was a beautiful city with buildings built closely together, neighbours able to reach each other through an opened window. The city was built around many canals that lined the streets, streets could only be reached by small bridges or sometimes even small gondolas. The buildings were works of arch, much different to the stone fortress that was Winterfell and the stone, wooden homes in Winterfell. The homes were made out of stone yet there was art in them, painted with different colours and each one more eye-catching than the last.

Turning down an alleyway, Robb placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as he narrowed his eyes, following his direwolf who had his nose pressed to the stone ground. The poor turned away quickly, shivering in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to themselves in fear of being on the receiving end of the foreign beast that walked in front of them. Robb followed Grey Wind who straightened so suddenly, nose in the air. Robb readied himself for a fight as Grey Wind suddenly took off in a sprint, Robb followed after the direwolf.

"What?" He heard a Northern accent asked suddenly and Robb turned the corner.

Someone was staring at Grey Wind, frozen. They were short with dirty, brown hair bound at the nape of their neck and they stepped back slowly. They were rather small, wearing large clothing that hid their figure. From first glance the person could be ignored as a boy, eyes could run over the person and ignored them. Yet as Robb stepped closer, the person then stepping toward Grey Wind stuck in a memory recognition crossed Robb. He shivered, lowering his hand from the sword as the person knelt down and let out a cry of undisguised happiness.

It was then Robb knew, it all seemed to slide into place as a familiar smile appeared on the face of the person. _Arya._ Arya who was thought to be dead after escaping from King's Landing when their father was beheaded. Robb's feet carried him without thought, Grey Wind moved for his companion and he wrapped his arms around the small person who gasped. Tears slid down Robb Stark's face and he hadn't cried since the letter had arrived of news of the death of his father. Robb Stark had sobbed to himself silently, yet the tears that slid down his cheeks were not silent.

"Get off me you freak!" The person struggled, only to knee him in the privates.

Robb flinched, hands weakly falling from the tight grip and he fell to his knees. He looked up at Arya through tears in his eyes, she stepped back with a scowl on her face and he struggled to his feet.

"A-Arya," he stuttered, "You're alive."

"Arya?" Her eyebrows pulled together and the blood drained from her face, paling even further. "R-Robb… _Robb_!"

Wrapping his strong arms around his sister, the two of them laughed and sobbed, rocking back and forth. Arya was still small, still bony but she was a woman now which was so strange to Robb. Yet he found he had no care in the world as he held his sister that he had not seen for over a decade. Arya… what would his mother say knowing another child she had thought dead, was alive? Pulling back, Robb shook his head as his hands began to smooth the hairs that flew around her face. Arya was shaking her head, lips pressed together and tears were escaping from her eyes as she stared at her older brother.

"H-how?" She asked, voice shaking as she stared at him.

"I should be asking you that question," he then petted Grey Wind affectionately. "Good work Grey Wind."

The direwolf pressed himself against the two Stark siblings, Arya suddenly reached down with a relieved sob, running her fingers through the fur of the direwolf. Grey Wind whined, pressing himself closer to Arya who laughed like she was a child who loved her own direwolf, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Arya pressed her face into the soft fur of the direwolf and Robb reached out, touching her head softly and lowering his head. For the first time in a long while, Robb wanted home. He wanted the warmth of Winterfell, the large hearth that they would sit around.

What Robb Stark wanted was to hear his mother and Arya, the girl of ten and two, arguing again of Arya not wanting to be a lady. He wanted to hear Sansa chastising them, acting as their mother would. He wanted to hear Rickon's giggles, see the little boy following after them as he tried to be like his big brothers. Robb imagined seeing Bran walk again, even chasing after Arya and promising them he would be a knight. And Jon… Robb imagined seeing his half-brother again. In his heart, he knew that was what he wanted, he wanted his family back again. He wanted his father back, Eddard Stark could do anything, he could bring them all together.

"Robb, what are you doing here?" Arya suddenly asked her older brother as he rose to stand.

Robb Stark was tall, much taller than he had been years ago when Arya had seen him. Arya was not much taller, perhaps a few centimetres from when she had been a young girl. Arya Stark came to her brother's sternum, so she was of short stature which she had received from her mother. Robb reached out, placing his hand on his sister's shoulder and squeezing it. Neither of them said anything, Arya only wrapped her arms around her brother again and squeezed tightly. It was a moment of relief for the both of them, who never thought they would see each other ever again.

"What have you been doing here?" Robb suddenly asked his sister, "I heard about an assassin… you're the assassin?"

"I was taught by the best," she shrugged her shoulders. "What are you doing in Braavos?"

"I am a pirate," he answered casually, "Mother will be relieved to find out you're alive."

"A pirate?" Arya blinked up at him, "I never heard…"

"Never heard of the Young Wolf? Wolf Bastard?"

"No," Arya murmured, licking her lips.

"Are you alright?" Robb noticed his little sister suddenly reached out to hold the wall.

"You want to take me back to Mother, I assume?" She then looked at him, challengingly. "I will not be forced into a marriage I do not want. Father-" her voice hitched and Robb held up his hands.

"Arya," he reached out to hold both her shoulders. "Do not worry."

It did not take much convincing to lure his sister to his ship, which he promised to inform her all that had happened since she had run. To Braavos, of all places. Robb could not help the smile that crossed his face, the amazement that was shown on the face of his sister as she walked up the incline up to the ship. All those on the deck paused as Robb led what looked to be a young boy onto the deck, amazement in the child's eyes. No one noticed that it was Lady Arya Stark, who would refuse to take on the title lady, standing with hands on hips at the sails which held the sigil of the Stark house.

"Robb," Greatjon Umber cleared his throat. "Who is this new lad?"

"Lad," Robb then snickered. "Greatjon, find your son and Olyvar, meet me in my cabin."

"This is nice," Arya said as she entered the small cabin. "A map of Westeros," she observed, running her hands over it, breathing in deeply. Grey Wind took his rest on the bed of furs by the door, perched ready for action if it should arise.

"What do you want to know?" Robb asked his sister who met his eyes.

"Sansa," she breathed in deeply, "Start with Sansa."

"Sansa never married Joffrey," relief settled on her face.

"I always felt guilt for abandoning her but she never," Arya squeezed her eyes shut, "She was so stupid."

"Sansa was married to Tyrion Lannister, instead," Robb said the words carefully. "Joffrey marrying Margaery Tyrell."

"What?" Arya said slowly, eyebrows pulled together as she glared at her brother. "You cannot be serious."

Robb shrugged, shoulders rising slowly but small with no effort behind them. "She and Tyrion have taken Casterly Rock, Tyrion Lannister killed his father and escaped. The Lannisters tried but they could not defeat Tyrion and his army…"

"Are they on our side?" Arya demanded.

"I do not know," Robb replied honestly, a little confused to Arya's demands of sides. What did she know of the war?

"Bran, Rickon?" Arya demanded. "Are they alright?"

"Rickon is with Mother in the Riverlands," he noticed relief in his sister. "The two of them are safe with our uncles and Grandfather. They fight against loyalists like the Freys constantly, but Riverrun will not fall."

"Our uncles?" Arya echoed.

"Yes, the Blackfish and Edmure," Robb cleared his throat. "Edmure was married to a Frey, Roslin. They have a son and three daughters."

"Ah," Arya still appeared confused. "And Bran?"

"I do not know," Robb looked down at the map, his eyes running to the sketch of the Wall. "Last I heard he had sent Rickon to mother with Shaggydog and Osha."

"Osha?" Arya interrupted.

"A Wildling," Robb had no time to explain Osha. "He is passed the Wall with Jojen and Meera Reed, Hodor and Summer as well."

"W-why?"

"I do not know," Robb breathed in deeply. "Jon is Lord Commander of the Watch, he holds a close relationship with the Wildlings. At least, that was what he last wrote me."

"Our family…" Arya shook her head. "I had no idea…"

"Arya…" Robb stepped forward to offer her some sort of comfort when the door opened.

It revealed the men he had sent for and Greatjon Umber lumbered in, "Who is the lad, Your Grace?"

"Your Grace?" Arya mocked, nose curled.

"Men," Robb stood to the side proudly. "My sister, Arya, has been returned to us."

"It is true?" Greatjon's eyes seemed to fill with relief, "This is Princess Arya Stark?"

He could hear his sister echo the title of Princess and Robb stepped forward, proudly. "Yes," Robb smiled at his men. "Arya Stark has returned."


	2. II

**So here is another chapter, thank you all so, so much for your reviews, follows and favourites - it means a lot to me. x**

 **I also thought I should mention - if any of the characters seem OOC it is because they are much older, over a decade has passed so they have changed.**

 **Anyway this is a Dany chapter, I don't know how you'll feel with her character but I like her. But thank you all for reading, and enjoy xx**

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 **II**

 **DAENERYS**

 **CRIES** awoke Queen Daenerys Targaryen in the early morning. She sat up so quickly that her husband rolled over, she slipped out of the bed and pulled on a nightdress. Following the cries she came to a nursery just off the chambers, there a small child with chubby little fists and black hair cried. Slowly, she bent down to lift the small child into her arms, pressing one hand to the side of her head as she rocked up. The child quietened as he was led to a breast that was revealed to feed as she moved to look over her city.

Meereen was an achievement that Daenerys could be proud of. Yet still, it was not enough. How could it be enough when the wrong King still sat on the throne of her ancestors? Daenerys stroked back the black curls of her son, rocking him and humming a Dothraki lullaby under her breath. He quietened as his hunger began to fade and he was comforted by his mother. His teeth grazed her nipple and she hissed, knowing that soon her son would need to be weaned from the breast, yet it always left her feeling empty when he child grew older.

"Mama," a soft voice had Daenerys turning her head. "Why does Najaho cry so loud?" The question was asked in Dothraki which was the tongue the family spoke together when intimate with one another.

"He is hungry," Daenerys answered her son. "And he roars loudly," she smiled as the young boy made his way to her. "You are up early Vorsakko, the sun is yet to rise."

"Najaho woke me," he pressed his body into her side.

"Me too," she stroked back his black curls that were loose. His hair fell to the middle of his back in thick curls, often kept in a braid but it was loosened at night to help him sleep better.

"Moon of my life," a deep rumble that had Daenerys smiling had them all turning their head to the doorway. Pants hung low on the hips of her husband as he moved into the nursery, pressing his forehead against her own.

"My sun and stars," their lips pressed toward and he touched her cheek.

"Papa," a cry from Vorsakko had him raised into his father's arms and he hugged the man with all his might.

"Vorsakko," Drogo's dark eyes flickered over his son who was a shade or two paler than himself. "You have awoken early."

"I am not tired," Vorsakko looked to his little brother. "Najaho woke me up."

"He has awoken everyone," Drogo touched the dark head of his youngest. "We will awaken Rhaego to train."

Vorsakko was carried from the chambers in his father's arms, Daenerys smiling at the two of them and adjusting herself once Najaho was fed. Following after the two of them at a distance, she patted her son's back as they made their way down the stairs to the shared chambers of her two older sons. Vorsakko's hearing was sharp, he could hear up the stairs to the room of Najaho, yet the cries of her youngest were attributed to roars as he cried so loud. Daenerys had never felt more fulfilled as a mother, yet she wanted her children to grow up in her ancestral home.

"Rhaego!" Vorsakko was quickly out of his father's arms, jumping on his brother's bed as they entered the room as the sun began to rise over the horizon.

"Vorsakko!" The voice of Rhaego snapped, "I am sleeping."

"You no longer sleep," Drogo crossed the room to pull the blankets off his son. "We train."

Rhaego sat up slowly, blinking through tired eyes and narrowed an icy glare at his father. It was one he had perfected from his mother when he did not get his way, he grumbled and slid out of the bed. His own dark curls hit the middle of his back but was not let loose like Vorsakko's, yet curls were falling out of the braid. He went to pull a tunic over his head but was stopped by his father that liked to train his sons bare chested. Daenerys had never liked it as her son already had slight scars on his torso, yet it was the way of the Dothraki.

"Mama," Rhaego turned to his mother. "Can you stop him?"

"No," Daenerys smiled softly. "But I am sure Grey Worm will offer help."

Both her sons enjoyed the solemn Unsullied, their eyes lit up. "Really?" Vorsakko jumped up and down.

"Yes," Daenerys knew that Grey Worm always watched over the young princes carefully.

"Moon of my life," there was warning in Drogo's tone, but she only smiled at him.

"Come," she patted his shoulder. "We do not wish to be late for training."

Never before had Daenerys seen such a man with such pride in his sons. It made her wonder if her father had been alive to show pride in Viserys, would her brother had not become mad? Daenerys stroked her babe's back as they made their way through the large castle in the centre of Meereen to the outside. Most of the Unsullied and the Dothraki trained together, showing each other different tactics. Her sons enjoyed being with both groups, learning from each of them a style that would shake Westeros when they would land. Soon, she hoped.

The training yard was a large, wide area that overlooked the city of Meereen, the buildings that were piled together tightly. There were no railings to stop someone from falling off the edge and it was often used as a perch for her dragons when not in use. Sand was brought from the ground to cover it, making it much easier for training. Drogo did not like the height, he thought it impractical for training but Daenerys assured him that it would be no different had her sons train on the grass. Yet often they all located outside the city for training with horses, something even several Unsullied wished to learn.

"Your sons are strong," Irri, her handmaid, complimented from beside her.

"Irri," Daenerys turned to her with a smile. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," Irri then smiled. "Rakharo is fierce, is he not?"

Rakharo, one of the bloodriders sworn to the Khal and Khaleesi, was fierce. He was tall with bulging muscles, he could almost rival Drogo in height and strength. He had a thick, black braid that hung to his waist and boasted many bells which spoke of his achievement in battles. He was handsome and often the women, Dothraki and others alike, whispered of how they wanted him. Rakharo had never shown signs of interest in women, yet Daenerys had often wondered as he showed particular attention to kind-hearted Jhiqui.

"He is," Daenerys agreed with the Dothraki woman.

Irri was beautiful, almond shaped eyes and copper skin. Yet she was rather petite for a Dothraki woman, as she was much closer to Daenerys in height and stature than her fellow Dothraki women. Yet there was nothing that showed it bothered Irri as she was very popular with the men, those from the Dothraki and those who were not. There were even instances of her flirtations with Unsullied. Irri was yet to marry, there was no pressure yet she knew Dothraki custom was of brides to marry young – Daenerys had been a young bride when she married Drogo.

"Jhiqui is in love with him," Irri sighed heavily. "There is no chance for me."

Perhaps so as Rakharo did not amuse himself by pitting the two women against each other. Instead he made his intentions clear with Jhiqui. He even paused when she would enter the room, watching her closely – it was only a matter of time before he carried her into privacy. Daenerys gave her friend a sympathetic smile and Irri was soon distracted, attentions turning as another Dothraki woman began to converse with her. Daenerys watched the two of them as they walked away from her, heading to a crowd of females who were fighting amongst themselves.

Najaho let out a sudden cry and Daenerys touched his cheek lightly, rocking him. Soon he quietened and Daenerys watched as Rhaego lowered himself, sword gripped tight in his hand as his eyes narrowed on his father. The clashing of swords could be heard as Drogo launched himself at the boy, Daenerys squeezed her eyes tightly together and she sucked in a deep breath. There was always a pit of anxiety deep within her when her sons would train, losing either of them too quickly did not sit well with her. Rhaego would be a man soon, yet she still saw him as her little boy.

"Your Grace," she turned slowly at a voice that came from behind her. "A letter has arrived for you."

Missandei was one of her most trusted advisors, a slave girl that had been rescued and knew many languages. She was a strong woman, Daenerys much admired the girl who had been brutally raped from childhood up until her liberation. Missandei was beautiful too with kinky hair pulled back with a band around her hair, that fell just above her shoulders. Her skin was a warm light brown and her eyes dark brown, she received much attention from the Dothraki horde yet encouraged no attention. There was something between herself and Grey Worm, the Commander of the Unsullied, yet nothing could be between them.

Grey Worm had been raised as a soldier since he had been brought, castrated as a child and forced to fight. He was a strong man, one Daenerys admired as well. He was handsome with his brown skin and his hair cut close to his scalp. Grey Worm was serious, however, and a respected man Daenerys put her trust behind. He stood with her husband and children, watching them critically. He said nothing, gave no pointers but she knew he would have a list of ideas to give her husband when he was asked when the sparring was over.

"What does the letter say?" Daenerys asked her friend, yawning tiredly. She reached up to cover her mouth with a free hand.

"King Robb Stark is sailing toward Meereen as we speak," Missandei offered a shorter version of the letter. "To discuss the terms of the alliance."

"Is that all the news?" Daenerys turned her eyes to Missandei.

"He arrives with his sister," Missandei held up the letter. "It should be no longer than a week."

"Good," Daenerys breathed deeply. "I also wish to discuss the terms of an alliance." She turned to head inside, "Come."

The palace which was situated in the heart of Meereen was large witch many floors and chambers. Underneath was a home in which her dragons spent their time in, most of the time they could be seen flying around the skies. Daenerys patted her son's back as she made her way down the stairs toward the kitchens. Hungered, Daenerys decided to sit at the table with Missandei as company. Situating her son in her lap, she rocked him as his eyes darted around the room, watching with his fist in his mouth.

Off the kitchens was a small dining area Daenerys used with her friends and family often, it was not too large and the table was long but it was comfortable. There was an extra dining room further from the kitchens but it was much larger and Daenerys expected it had been used for parties. Daenerys had no reason to hold parties, she had no reason to invite the slave owners into her home unless she wanted them incinerated by her dragons. Najaho made a nose and she placed him on her lap, bouncing him on her leg.

"Your Grace," Missandei cleared her throat. "There is another letter."

"Another?" Daenerys turned to her, "Is it news of Westeros? I know Joffrey Baratheon has failed to produce an heir, I have three."

"It is not that, Your Grace," Missandei held the letter. "It is an alliance, an offer from Lord Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock."

"Lord Tyrion Lannister?" Daenerys's brows pulled together, "The _Imp_?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Missandei held the letter. "He vows to declare himself for you, to support your armies as you take back Westeros."

Daenerys pursed her lips, "Is that all?"

"He is married to Robb Stark's sister, Sansa," Missandei closed the letter. "You will have support from the Westerlands, the North and the Riverlands."

"Then we should accept," Daenerys held a spoon, lifting it up to feed her son easier. "It would make sense, no?"

"But we must be careful," Missandei urged her Queen. "You will face much opposition."

"I know," once Daenerys had foolish, girlish dreams that she and her brother would be welcomed back to Westeros. That was soon crushed after his death and when an assassin was sent for her, when one of her most trusted companions, Jorah Mormont, had only been sent to spy on her. Now she held the belief everyone was her enemy, especially those in Westeros. The monsters who sat on her thrown, they were her true enemy.

Cersei Lannister. Jaime Lannister. Joffrey. Tywin Lannister.

"Mama," she turned her head as Vorsakko entered the dining area with a grin on his face. His light brown torso was dirty with sand and a little bit of blood that had Daenerys's heart clenching, but there was a wide grin on his face and his hair was matted. "I did good," he grinned as he hurried toward her, tugging on her arm.

"Did you?" She asked with a smile, placing the spoon back in the bowl and reached out to brush the sand off his dirty cheek. "Has Father sent you inside to eat?"

"I must eat if I wish to be a big, strong warrior," Vorsakko took his seat beside his mother. "Missandei," he grinned at her, waving before turning to accept the food from the servants.

No sooner had Vorsakko arrived, Drogo and Rhaego walked in together. Out of all her sons she thought Rhaego looked most like his father. He was tall and broad for a boy of ten and one, with a solemn attitude and fierce in battle. He picked it up quickly, making his father proud. Drogo moved to the table, pressing a kiss to her forehead and sitting down beside Vorsakko who was already eating as quickly as possible. Rhaego stood back, chest also covered in dirt and blood. Instead of coming to the table however, he turned quickly and left the room.

Daenerys rose slowly from her seat, "Drogo." She passed off Najaho to her husband, "Is there something wrong with Rhaego?"

"No," Drogo appeared concerned, he touched the cheek of his young son in his lap. "He did well in training, he was not injured."

"I will check on him," Daenerys kissed her husband and her two sons.

"Check the dragons!" Vorsakko shouted after his mother, "Rhaego loves Drogon the most, Mama!"

Heading down the hundreds of steps to the bottom floor of the palace, Daenerys nodded at her guards as they opened the door for her. Just outside the room in which her dragons slept was an area of rest when they were not exploring. It was a large area, flat much like the training area floors above. It was there for her dragons to rest in the sun as they adored soaking up the rays, especially Drogon with his black scales. Running her fingers along the stone, Daenerys stepped out into the morning sun, feeling the rays warm up her pale skin.

Rhaego could be seen not far from her, standing with Drogon who had bowed his head to the Prince. Daenerys watched, basking in the sunlight as Rhaego pressed his forehead to the tip of Drogon's snout. His hand lazily scratched backward and forward, earning light rumbling from Drogon as he spoke in High Valyrian. Daenerys had never felt prouder as her son was gentle with the dragon, speaking in the tongue of his ancestors. Daenerys was glad Missandei was teaching her sons not only the Common Tongue by the tongue of Daenerys's people. She reached up, rubbing her heart as her other dragons landed beside Drogon.

Drogon moved, snapping at them as he wanted all of Rhaego's attention. "Rhaegal, Viserion," Daenerys commanded their attention and the two of them made their way to their Mother. "Good," she murmured, running her hands over their scales.

"Mother," Rhaego moved away from Drogon, the beast taking flight into the air. His wings had enough power to cause wind to blow around them, hair whipping around their faces. Not to be out done, Rhaegal and Viserion followed their brother into the air, calling for him.

"Is there a problem, Rhaego?" She reached out to touch her son's cheeks, moving his face from side to side. He was not injured so she began to dust off the sand.

"Our ancestors flew them, didn't they?" Rhaego asked as he looked up at the three dragons who circled overhead.

"They did," she answered, looking into her son's dark, purple eyes.

"Why did they stop?"

"After the Dance of Dragons many of the dragons were killed off or disappeared," she licked her dry lips. "After that there was no dragons to ride, they were destroyed. It is why my Father believed he went mad, I've been told. He lost his connection to the dragons."

"Will I ride one?" Rhaego asked her so suddenly that Daenerys stepped back in surprise.

"I…" Daenerys looked down at her son and then up at the dragons. She was able to ride Drogon but the idea of her son… she worried for him, "I suppose." She placed her hand on his shoulder, "Come inside, you must be hungry. We will eat and we will discuss this with your father," placing her hand on his shoulder she urged him back inside the palace.

"Father will say yes," Rhaego told his mother.

Back inside the dining room, Drogo looked up as his wife and eldest son entered the room. Rhaego took his seat beside his father, looking up as the servant placed his meal in front of him. Daenerys touched Vorsakko's head and he looked up at his mother with a toothy grin, dimples in his cheeks. Daenerys sighed, looking over the table at her family and felt relieved. Drogo still had a scar from where he had been attacked, Daenerys was glad she had not trusted the witch to save him. If she had, she could have lost her husband.

"I will take them training on a horse," Drogon said and Daenerys looked up.

"I will come with you," she smiled at her sons.

"But…" Missandei turned to her. "You have things you must do."

"Missandei," Daenerys smiled at the woman. "I think there is a day I can be with my family."

"Of course, Your Grace," Missandei rose to her feet. "I will attend to your duties and extend apologies."

"Thank you, Missandei," Daenerys smiled at her.

The family watched as Missandei dispersed from the room, turning to their meals. Daenerys ate slowly, nodding at the servants who removed Missandei's plates and bowls. Daenerys looked over at her husband who was feeding Najaho and them himself, the baby's mouth open wide whenever her husband would move food to his own mouth. Daenerys's heart swelled and she finished her own meal quickly, rising from the table and placing her hands on Vorsakko's shoulders, smoothing her hands along the smooth skin that belonged to her youngest son.

"We will all bathe," she said suddenly.

"Mama!" Vorsakko complained, kicking his legs.

Drogo frowned at his wife, "They will bathe only to dirty themselves again?"

"This is the argument we have had for a near week," she placed her hands on her hips. "They will bathe."

"You heard your Khaleesi," Drogo grunted and passed off Najaho to her. "You will bathe."

All the boys bathed communally with the men and her husband since they were training to be warriors. Najaho was large enough that Drogo took him to the communal bathing house with him, kissing his wife on the shoulder and Vorsakko hanging from his arm. Rhaego followed after him, mocking his father's stance as her four boys walked away from her. Daenerys turned and headed to the private bathing chambers she used for herself, and sometimes Drogo when he wished to join her. It was a luxury she allowed for, something from her life that she did not want to give up.

The bathing chambers were large and overlooked the city of Meereen. There was a deep pool on the floor filled to the brim with water near boiling, just the way she liked her baths. There were vines that twisted along the ceiling and down the columns that shaped windows, beautiful pink flowers bloomed against the dark green vines. The room smelt of lavender, a soft sweet smell that Daenerys adored. Letting the nightdress fall from her body, she made her way toward the pool of water and settled into the heat. Attendants appeared, coming out of the shadows with scents and soaps, prepared to help their Khaleesi.

"Khaleesi," one of the nervous servants who was a freed slave held out a salve. "Would you like me to wash your hair?"

"Please," Daenerys sunk lower into the pool of water.

"It is from the finest merchants in Lys," the servant explained as she massaged it into the hair of her Queen. "The Khal thought it an appropriate present."

"Of course he did," Daenerys smiled.

A door opened somewhere in the distance, Daenerys was much too relaxed as water was tipped over her head to let the salve fall from her hair. The water was the perfect temperature, there was nothing more relaxing to Daenerys Targaryen than a warm bath. The water stopped pouring over her head and a bowl clattered against the tiled floor, shattering. Violet eyes opened, Daenerys turned her head and looked. Her servant hurried to picked up the shattered pieces of the bowl and Daenerys was relieved when it was just her husband who walked to her naked.

"Drogo," Daenerys smiled at him as he sunk into the hot water.

"It is very hot," he hissed and moved toward his wife, scooping her into his lap.

"Yes," Daenerys ran her fingers over the top of the water. "You may excuse us," she spoke to the servants in the Common Tongue. "Will you let me wash your hair?" She asked and touched the rough locks that were pulled back into a braid, "Irri has taught me how to braid."

"Yes," Drogo cupped her cheek.

"Who have the boys been left with?"

"Missandei and the bloodriders," Drogo's thumb ran along her cheekbone slowly.

"My sun and stars," Daenerys breathed heavily.

"I wish for a daughter," Drogo told her and placed his hand to her abdomen.

Since their marriage Daenerys's body had changed. Her breasts were still small yet fuller, holding milk for their son and sagged further. Her stomach was rounder and had stretchmarks along it, but Drogo only found her body more endearing as his children came from it. He reached out, cupping the back of her neck and pressing their lips together. The two of them held a love for each other that could not be described, Daenerys wondered if her mother had ever felt such a thing for her father but knew it a lie. Was it what Rhaegar had felt for Lyanna Stark, was that why he caused the rebellion? If so, Daenerys knew it was worth it.

"You wish for a daughter," Daenerys smiled. "And what of a son?"

"I have three warriors," Drogo cleared his throat. "We should have a daughter."

"You must wait," Daenerys reached behind him, beginning to loosen his hair from the braid. Drogo's hair was impressive, falling to his thighs and fanning around them.

"Moon of my life," Drogo kissed her cheek. "You wish to head across the sea?"

"I want my home back," it was a discussion they had often. "I know you do not like the sea but it is my home."

"Then we will take it for you," Drogo vowed.

"Do you think we have time alone before someone comes looking for us?" She asked suddenly, running her fingers through his hair to loosen the tangles.

"Yes," Drogo pressed his lips to her own lips.

Laughter could be heard from the bathing chambers, servants and guards scurried away in embarrassment to give their Khal and Khaleesi privacy.


	3. III

**Well I completely forgot to post a chapter, well, better late than never.**

 **And I forgot to add a disclaimer but we all know this belongs to GRRM and I only own this plotline, my OCs and any unrecognisable content in the story.**

 **Speaking of OCs, this chapter is from the point of view of Zhalli - my OC. I hope you like her and I hope you enjoy.**

 **Also thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites - please continue to enjoy xx**

* * *

 **III**

 **ZHALLI**

 **HEAT** came from the sky above and the earth below, inescapable. Zhalli pressed her back against the stone wall, hoping for some sort of coolness to settle over her body. Yet the stone was just as hot as the ground and the air, Zhalli leaned forward as her Khal came into view. He rode with his back straight, reins gripped tight in one hand as he held a sword in his other hand. Behind him came the bloodriders and then his two sons, both attempting to mock their father's stance on the horse and his movements.

The women, including Zhalli, sat underneath a large shade that had been erected for them. The Khaleesi sat on a large chair, watching intently as her husband trained her sons. Zhalli was most curious as she watched the young boys, one of them too small to be sitting on a horse comfortably but he had been born for the horse. Zhalli rested her hands on her knees that were pulled close to her body, biting down on the inside of her cheek as she watched the horses ready themselves. They were beautiful creatures, strong and large prepared for their duty.

The Khal's horse was large, perhaps one of the largest with dark fur that covered his body. The was a haughtiness to the stallion, the head rose and mane flickered with attitude. The horse beside it seated the oldest son of the Khal, a large speckled horse with a white tail and mane, it was much calmer yet it appeared the son of the Khal had a way with animals. There were rumours that he spoke to them, there was a connection there no one else had with the creatures. His brother's horse was a lot more playful, a smaller chestnut gelding who seemed to prefer dawdling rather than fighting.

"Zhalli," she heard someone hiss. Dark brown eyes turned from the horses, finding the familiar pale face of her friend.

"Emmati," she scowled, "What is it?"

"The Khal, he is strong, no?" Emmati stared at him in amazement. "The Khaleesi is lucky."

"They are both lucky," Zhalli shifted along the sandy ground to her friend. "Your sister is marrying one of the slavers?"

"Yes," Emmati pulled a face. "Mother is horrified."

"Will they do a traditional wedding?" Zhalli was most curious since Dothraki wedding traditions had to be different to those celebrated by the people in Meereen.

"I do not know for sure," Emmati rested her chin on her knees. "Father does not want her to marry the man, they are not our people."

"The Khaleesi is not our people yet the Khal is very happy with her," Zhalli reminded her friend. The two of them looked over at their Khaleesi who held her youngest son on her lap, watching her husband and other sons with pride.

"The Khaleesi is different to a slave owner," Emmati explained. "I feel more comfortable around the Khaleesi than I do with the man my sister may be marrying."

The Khaleesi was a woman admired among the young women of Khal Drogo's Dothraki horde. Though some might not agree with the strength of the woman, most of the young women looked to her for guidance as the woman had freed cities and people from slavery. Khaleesi was a small woman but she was powerful and she had terrifying beasts to back her, and a husband that would gladly slaughter thousands to ensure the safety of his wife. Khaleesi would be a legend in the years to come, the Dragon Khaleesi, the woman made of fire.

Legs tucked underneath her, Zhalli watched as dust was kicked up by the whip one of the bloodriders dragged along the ground. He raised his arm high above his head and released the whip against the dirt, a loud crack could be heard in the small valley they resided in. Zhalli watched closely as the oldest boy lifted his sword in his hands, grasping the reins of the horse with his other hand and began to charge. The battle with his father began, the other son waiting for his own turn as his older brother and father began to exchange blows with each other.

"Already the women whisper of marriage with the Khal's son," Emmati suddenly whispered to Zhalli.

"He is only young," Zhalli frowned at her friend.

"Yes," Emmati cleared her throat. "But he is becoming a formidable man, is he not?"

The two of them watched him, "I can agree." Zhalli watched as he blocked another of his father's hits, only to lose sudden control of his seating on the saddle.

"It will probably be a strategic marriage," Emmati said. "Like his parents before him, perhaps a marriage to secure the West." Emmati shivered, "I do not want to go West Zhalli."

"Why not?" Zhalli was genuinely curious.

Neither of them heard much of the West, it was left up to interpretation. The Khaleesi had lost her land, driven out by cruel people and they needed to go back and take it for her. Zhalli could only imagine the type of people that lived to the West, yet it was why she wanted to be one of the people that would sail West with the Khaleesi and Khal when the time came.

"Zhalli!" Emmati suddenly reached out to grasp her friend's hand, "It is your Father!"

Ifakko's name meant foreigner, and it was true as he was a man that had come from the cities to the west, a liberated slave. He had made a name for himself in the Dothraki as a formidable warrior and one of the Khal's most loyal bloodriders. Ifakko was a man known to be studious, a man who did not take kindly to liars or the weak. He was a man who always had the back of the Khal and was one of the fiercest warriors, he was known to have many women also yet had never remarried after Zhalli's mother died.

"My Father," Zhalli rose on her knees to get a better look at him.

"He is so strong," Emmati stared at him in awe.

Ifakko had lighter skin than much of the Dothraki, yet it deepened with the sun. He did not have black hair, it was a dark brown and much curlier than much of the Dothraki. Yet the thick strands were impressive, falling to his knees in a strong braid which boasted his power and the many battles he had won. His eyes were the most interesting, a deep grey colour that seemed to change colour depending on his mood. Zhalli had always found her father terrifying but many Dothraki women wished for him as a husband, many throwing themselves at him any chance they received.

Yet Ifakko did not appreciate the women throwing themselves at him, he was very much in love with Zhalli's mother who had been gone for years. Since Zhalli appeared more Dothraki, meaning she had more of her mother's genes, people had often spread rumours that she was not her father's daughter. That had caused much contention between other men and her father, he could often be found challenging others over the rumours they spread. Quickly, many in the horde learnt not to challenge Ifakko nor spread rumours about his family.

Not if they wanted to live.

Zhalli rose, bare feet pressed into the sand as her father moved his horse beside Rakharo. The younger bloodrider turned to converse with the older, battle hardened man who kept his mouth pursed. A clash of metal had Zhalli removing her eyes from her father, looking to the Khal and his son. The son's sword landed in the ground a few feet from the tent the women sat under, the Khal levelling his sword at his son's throat. The Khaleesi could be heard gasping, she still could not stomach the idea of her son being in any sort of danger.

Cheers rose up in the crowd of onlookers, especially Dothraki. They were impressed with how long the Khal's son had managed to hold out against his father, especially as he was young. It would mean he would be a warrior to be reckoned with as he aged, someone with enough power they could be seen as competition in the future. It made Zhalli curious about the title of the boy, would he become Khal or would be take the throne his mother was owed? Could he have both? Zhalli did not understand what they would do when succession came into question in the future.

"Your Grace," Zhalli turned at the words of the common tongue that addressed the Khaleesi. "Prince Rhaego grows stronger by the day." It was Daario Naharis, the man who claimed his mother was Dothraki and he had already bedded most of the Dothraki women that thought him pretty. "You must be proud." Except the Khal did not like the man, he seemed to flirt too often with the Khaleesi.

"I am," the Khaleesi sounded flustered.

"Now Khaleesi-" Daario was interrupted by a horse's sniff.

The Khal lowered himself from the horse, feet hitting the ground as he stalked toward his wife. "Moon of my life," he said in Dothraki, reaching down and lifting his wife into his arms, pressing his lips against his own. It was a clear act of possession that Zhalli could not help the smile that appeared on her face.

"Father," Zhalli stood behind the man, hands behind her back.

"Zhalli," he grunted.

Sitting down at the small wooden table in their living area and kitchen, Ifakko was much too focused on the sword that was in his hands. He held a carving rock in his hand and slid it across the blade, pausing only to flick the top of the blade to check it was sharp enough. He continued to sharpen the blade, running the rock across it and not turning to his daughter. Zhalli studied the man who had many scars on his back, they were old scars but it was enough to remind anyone that he was a warrior.

"Zhalli," Ifakko then stopped sharpening the blade, letting the rock thud against the wood table as he turned to her. "Is there a problem?"

"Do you remember living in a stone house?" She asked, placing her hand against the stone wall. "Is that why you accepted such a thing so lightly?"

"I have no memory," the man grunted. "But I thought we should live like the locals as we are to stay here for a while."

"Right," Zhalli nodded.

"Is that all?" He lifted the rock to begin sharpening the blade again.

"Do you think Mother would have liked living in stone?"

"Your mother would have gutted me for accepting the offer," Ifakko did not falter from sharpening the blade as he would have done a decade earlier. Time had healed the wound of his wife's death.

"I am sure she would," Zhalli stepped forward. "Why have you not married me off yet?"

"Because there have been no suitable offers," Ifakko huffed. "And the Khal has requested that you be considered for alliances."

"Really?" It was news to Zhalli. "Why?"

"You are half-foreigner," Ifakko may have become a Dothraki but they could not forget he was not born Dothraki.

"Right," Zhalli rocked back and forth. Standing up on tiptoes only to rock back onto her heels.

As quick as she possibly could, Zhalli moved suddenly to press the blade she had been hiding behind her back to her father's neck. But she was too obvious as her father pressed the blade he had been sharpening to her own neck. His grey eyes were a storm as he studied his daughter's onyx eyes, they were narrowed as he looked over his daughter. He betrayed nothing, he was not impressed but it was difficult to impress the man. Zhalli's shoulders heaved but she did not remove the blade from her father's neck, not as she stood waiting for his critique of her movement.

"Very good," Ifakko muttered. "But not good enough. The distraction was clever but your movements were sloppy. What have I taught you?"

Sighing heavily, Zhalli removed the sword that had been pressed to her father's neck. "I am much better with a whip and a horse father, even a bow and arrow would do me better than a sword."

"You are strong with them," Ifakko agreed. "But you must get better with a sword."

"I know," she watched him pulled the sword back to continue sharpening it. "Did the Khal's sons do well today?"

"They are impressive," her father told her. "Rhaego picks weapons up quickly and he holds deep understanding and knowledge for war tactics. He will make a fine warrior someday. The other son… Vorsakko, it is hard to tell. He is young but I fear he will not be a good warrior, perhaps a better negotiator."

"He is only young still," Zhalli cleared her throat and made her way to the kitchen. "The Khal is pleased with them?"

"The Khal has never been prouder," her father stood from the table. "The Khal wishes for a daughter."

"He is unhappy with sons?" Zhalli was curious.

Most Dothraki men wished for sons, daughters were not ideal as they were not as strong as men. Zhalli had worried her father was disappointed with her as a child but he claimed she was a copy of her mother and he could not be prouder. Perhaps Zhalli should not have been surprised that the Khal wanted a daughter as he had three strong sons and having a daughter as beautiful as his wife would have him envious of all the Khals. Zhalli scratched the side of her cheek and pulled out a slab of meat, only to have her father place his hand on her arm.

"No," he said suddenly.

"Is there something wrong?" She asked, looking up at him.

"We dine with the Khal and Khaleesi," Ifakko appeared proud. "It is an occasion I will tell to my grandchildren."

"Father," Zhalli furrowed her eyebrows. "You are with the Khal regularly, you are one of the very best of his bloodriders."

Ifakko said nothing as he moved back to the table, "Put the meat away and get yourself ready."

"Do I wear the garb of the Khaleesi's people?" Zhalli asked curiously.

"No," Ifakko held up his hand. "You wear what you normally wear."

Inside her small bed chambers, Zhalli often felt claustrophobic. It was because she had lived under the stars in a tent as a child, having stone walls and a stone roof cover her was strange. But she was getting better since her father had accepted the house, so much so that she could sleep through the night without waking up. Inside the room there was a small bed pressed against the wall near the window, the window had a small cloth that covered it but the cloth did nothing to block out the light from the outside.

The floor was covered in wooden flooring and there was a dresser off to the side, Zhalli hardly ever used it. She did sleep in the small bed but it was more unusual than sleeping on furs. Zhalli's room did not consist of much, it was small and perhaps others had larger bed chambers but Zhalli was grateful. She lifted up one of the blankets, wrapping it around her shoulders as she moved to peer out the window. Often, the streets were busy and crowded but in the early afternoon it seemed there was no one on the streets.

Moving away from the window, she threw the blanket toward the bed and it landed on the very edge. Loosening her hair from the binds, she let the thick, black curls fall to the middle of her waist and she moved toward her clothing. Pulling on new leather pants and a new shirt, Zhalli studied herself and touched her toned abdomen before heading out of the room. Her father was dressed, his bare chest had leather straps covering it and he had changed into new pants. They would be crucified for what they were wearing had they been anywhere else.

"Boots," Ifakko grunted toward his daughter.

"Boots?" Her nose curled, she hated when her feet were covered. "They will not mind Father."

" _Boots_ ," he said again, only harder and with a warning.

Sighing, Zhalli pulled her boots on her feet. Often they were unused as Dothraki were happy to go barefoot, her boots were not worn at all. They still maintained the colour and there were no rips or snags in them.

"Good," Ifakko studied his daughter. "You want to look nice."

"Why?" Zhalli frowned at him.

There were many steps that they were required to walk up to get to the palace. Zhalli kept her arms crossed over her chest as she followed after her father, shadowing him. Each step he took she made the exact same step as it was easier than looking up and realising they still had far to go. Walking with Ifakko was easier, she had to keep up her pace to make sure she was quicker. He took long strides and her little legs had to hurry to keep up, which was not too difficult as he had been training her for years. Zhalli was relieved as he feet touched the solid ground in front of the doors.

The two Unsullied guards opened the doors, stepping aside as Ifakko and Zhalli walked through the doors. The palace was lit with flames, the orange light feeling comforting as Zhalli and Ifakko were greeted by Missandei. The woman smiled at the two of them, hands in front of her as they were led through the palace. They went up another flight of stairs and found their way out into the training area where a large bonfire was placed in the middle. Zhalli could not help the grin that crossed her face as she came out into the area.

"Ifakko," the Khal came to stand in front of the two arrivals. Zhalli watched as her father shook the hand of their Khal, "Zhalli." He nodded at her, "Come."

"Zhalli," Jhiqui smiled as Zhalli came into the circle of women. There were a few babes in the arms of mother's, the Khaleesi held on to her youngest son.

"Jhiqui," Zhalli greeted and took her seat beside her. "How are you?"

"Good," Jhiqui grinned widely.

"Zhalli," the Khaleesi smiled at her. "How are you today?"

"Good, Khaleesi," Zhalli rubbed her hands on her thighs. "How are you?"

"I am good," the Khaleesi smiled and then stood. "Would you like to hold Najaho?"

"Yes," Zhalli smiled as the Khaleesi placed the child into her arms.

He was a large and chubby child with dark curls atop his head, he was adorable. Zhalli touched the side of his cheek with a smile, rubbing his cheek with a thumb. He sucked on his chubby fist as the women in the circle spoke with each other, Zhalli studying the little boy in her arms. She wanted a child of her own someday, but that would mean marriage and there was no chance she would be marrying any time soon. Kissing the top of his head, she turned to look over at the fire and how the flames danced toward the sky.

"I must tell you all," the Khaleesi began speaking, "An ally will arrive from Westeros."

"Westeros?" Irri frowned, "From your homeland?"

"Yes," Khaleesi pressed her hands together. "I believe we are getting closer to the time which I can take back my throne."

Najaho let out a squeal and clapped his hands together, his mother smiling at him. Zhalli watched as the boy began to crawl across the ground toward his mother, the Khaleesi smiled at him as he stopped himself in the middle of the circle and rocked himself back and forth. Zhalli crossed her legs together, hands on her knees as he stopped rocking and pushed himself toward his mother. The Khaleesi pulled her son into her arms, pressing her lips to his chubby cheek as he reached out to tug on one of his mother's silver strands of hair.

"What will we do?" Irri suddenly asked curiously, "Will we follow you?"

"Yes," Khaleesi smiled. "I will not take back my throne if I do not have my people there."

In her mind, Zhalli wondered what Westeros would look like. Was it different to Essos and Meereen? Meereen was dusty and hot, the wastes which they had lived on before following the Khaleesi to Meereen had been barren and dusty too. Zhalli pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins and resting her left cheek on her knees. Najaho babbled in his mother's arms, attempting to place her hair in his mouth, only the Khaleesi would laugh and bat his hands away from her hair, peppering kisses on the top of his curly head.

"I have to tell you something," Jhiqui suddenly said, a nervous smile on her face.

Zhalli blinked at the woman who leant closer to her, "What is it?" Zhalli asked her curiously.

"Rakharo has asked for us to marry," Jhiqui smiled but looked over at Irri who was sitting beside the Khaleesi. "But I worry Irri will be angry."

"Why would she be angry?" Zhalli frowned as she reached forward to take a piece of the food that was placed in the middle of the circle.

"Irri wants Rakharo too," Jhiqui studied Zhalli, "Do you not know this?"

"No," Zhalli admitted.

"Oh," Jhiqui was puzzled. "I wish to marry him also."

"Then marry," Zhalli shrugged her shoulders. "He is handsome."

A smile bloomed on Jhiqui's face and she tucked one of her braids behind her ear. Irri looked over at Jhiqui and Zhalli, studying the two of them and Zhalli waved at her before standing. She stretched her arms above her head and she made her way to the fire, pressing her hands against the warmth that came from the flames. Realistically it was too hot to have a fire, but night cooled in Meereen to the point the Dothraki had never felt and they got cold easily. Zhalli had grown used to being around fire, especially since the Khaleesi enjoyed fire so much.

"Zhalli," she looked down at the childlike voice that said her name. Vorsakko, the second son of the Khal and Khaleesi, stood before her. "Look," he grinned at her and stuck his hand in the fire.

Eyes widening, Zhalli let out a yell and placed her hands on the shoulders of the boy. She yanked him back from the fire and heads turned toward the two of them, people removing themselves from their sitting positions to get a look at what was going on. Zhalli was staring at the hand of Vorsakko and he looked up at Zhalli innocently. There were no signs of burns on his hands, in fact, it appears as if he had not stuck his hands in the flames. Zhalli did not understand, she stepped back from the child and shook her head in confusion.

"Vorsakko," the Khaleesi frowned as she made her way toward the two of them. Najaho was sitting on her hip, head resting against his mother's chest as Daenerys placed her hand on the top of her son's head.

"Mama," Vorsakko looked up at her in confusion. "I just showed Zhalli what I can do."

"What can you do my sweet?" The Khaleesi asked, smiling down at him.

"Watch," he grinned.

"Vorsakko," the Khaleesi said his name softly and stared as her son shoved his hand into the fire. The Khaleesi passed off her son to the nearest woman standing to her and she bent beside Vorsakko and studied his hand. There was no smell of burning flesh, the child did not scream in pain. Yet the Khaleesi pulled her son from the fire and wrapped her arms around him tightly.

"Look Mama," he held up his hand with a dimpled grin, "I don't burn."

"Drogo!" The Khaleesi yelled for her husband and he came from behind the fire, looking down at his family in concern.

"Is there something wrong?" He bent, studying his son with a frown.

"We must go inside," Khaleesi lifted Vorsakko into her arms and the boy wrapped his legs around his mother's waist. "Come."

The festivities had stopped and the crowd watched as the Khaleesi and her husband escaped inside with their second son. Zhalli was confused, she had heard of the Khaleesi being resistant to fire but her _son_. Shaking her head, Zhalli looked over at her father. She could see his face through the flames and he shook his head at her, turning to converse with the older bloodriders around him. Zhalli shook her head, tucking a curl behind her ear and heading back to the circle of women. Some of the women still were sitting but others had hurried inside after the Khaleesi, like Missandei and Irri.

"Zhalli," Jhiqui shuffled closer to the woman beside her. "Did… did he really stick his hand into the fire?"

"Yes," Zhalli answered. "He is like the Khaleesi."

"But he is not white of hair," Jhiqui reached up to touch one of her braids that were as black as Zhalli's curls.

"I know," Zhalli shrugged her shoulders. "She is his mother."

"Strange," Jhiqui began to fiddle with one of the braids.

"Congratulations are in order," a familiar voice said above them and the two women looked up. Jhogo stood above them with a grin on his face and hands on his narrow hips.

"Jhogo?" Zhalli frowned up at the man.

"To Jhiqui," he grinned and said rather loudly, "Jhiqui and Rakharo are to be married."

Silence settled over the area and eyes turned to Jhiqui who attempted to duck her head away from the stares. Zhalli glared up at Jhogo who looked around in confusion before he shook his head and walked toward the group of men. Irri would find out quickly before Jhiqui could tell her, Zhalli predicted as the women began to whisper amongst themselves. No one offered Jhiqui congratulations and Zhalli helped her friend to stand, the girl looked around for an escape. Rakharo made himself known, saving his intended from the scrutiny she was receiving from the women around the circle.

"Congratulations to your friend," her father said as Zhalli moved to stand beside him.

"That is something you should say to her," Zhalli looked at the bonfire. "I will return to our home."

"Take a sword," he placed the sword in her hands. "It is dangerous in the streets at night, the Sons of the Harpy still roam free."

"I will be careful Father," she gripped the sword in her hand and then smirked at him. "As long as you are careful Father, you are not getting any younger and that could mean trouble for you."

"Go," the man rolled his eyes and turned his back to his daughter.


	4. IV

**So enjoy this chapter, thank you for reading and stuff. I forgot to update again but I'm basically trash to whatever, I like this chapter and I hope that you do too. I don't know what else to say other than enjoy.**

* * *

 **IV**

 **ROBB**

 **METAL** clashed together, vibrations steadily running up arms. The larger sword belonged to Robb Stark who was grinning manically at the person he was versing. The person who held a smaller sword had eyebrows furrowed, it was Arya Stark who had her hair still pulled back at her nape. He jumped forward only to have his sister dart away from the sword, still wearing breeches as they were not likely to get a dress as they sailed to Meereen. He also believed his sister would gut him rather than be forced into a dress.

"Are you really trying Arya?" Robb challenged mockingly.

"Of course I am," Arya snapped, "Stop trying to provoke me!"

"Come and get me!" Robb teased as he jumped back away from her flashing.

"Robb!" Arya complained, "This is not a game!"

"Why have you given up?" Robb teased as he let his sword rest in the deck of the ship.

"I have not," Arya snarled. "You just need to take this more seriously!"

"I am taking this rather seriously," Robb grinned at her. "But why are you taking this _too_ seriously?"

"Robb," Arya complained and stomped at the ground. "I am not delicate, we're sparring so _spar!_ "

Arya hurried toward her brother, he held up his sword to protect himself when she came charging towards him. If she wanted to grow serious Robb could do it, holding his sword out and blocking his sister's hit. Their swords clashed against each other and he began to advance, Arya backing away from him as Robb advanced. He swung his sword and they both got low, their eyes meeting as Robb smirked at his sister. Arya looked frustrated that he was taking their sparring so lightly, it was a frustration that Robb was going to warn her she should not have in battle.

Much of the crew watched on as the Stark siblings spared against each other. Dacey Mormont was impressed with the skills of Arya Stark and remembered suggesting to her mother all those years ago that they offer a place in their home for Arya Stark to become a ward of House Mormont. Most of the crew was impressed as Arya Stark kept up the pace against her brother, not tiring once or asking for the fight to stop. She was the one who urged the fighting on, the one who seemed more likely to continue to fight.

Their blades clashed against each other again and Arya advanced, swinging her sword and Robb jumped back. His sister was an aggressive fighter and Robb could not help the grin that spread across his face. A raven had been sent to his mother in Riverrun after Arya had been found, he hoped his mother would be grateful that her daughter was _alive_. In his distraction, Robb tripped and fell backwards against the deck. He looked up only to have Arya holding a blade to his throat and smirking down at him.

"I would suggest watching where you're going next time Robb," Arya tapped his chin with the blunt edge of the blade before pulling it back and sheathing it.

Robb let out a loud laugh and stood up, he dropped the sword on the deck and wrapped his arms tightly around his sister. She was light and small enough to swing around in his arms and he continued to laugh. He dropped her to her feet and she looked at him in shock, only to stumble on her own feet due to her dizziness. Robb reached down and picked up his sword, sheathing it and shaking his head at his sister. He was so proud and could only imagine how proud his parents would be of her.

"I've missed you Arya," he smiled at her. "It is good to know that you are back."

"Alright," Arya studied him. "Are you okay Robb?"

"Never better," he rolled back his shoulders. "All my siblings are alive and well. I am going to get us back the North when we dock in Meereen. What's not to be happy about?"

"You're insane," Arya shook her head and looked to Dacey Mormont. "Can I spar you?"

"Are you not tired little wolf?" Dacey asked, turning the page of her book she looked up from.

Dacey Mormont was truly a romantic at heart as her book contained verses of Dornish poetry that was both romantic and sensual. Robb liked the contrast of one of his most trusted companions as she was a woman who could easily carve a man to pieces with her blade yet she enjoyed the finer things in life. She was a lady that could never turn down a dance and did not object to wearing dresses as dresses suited her just as fine as her armour. She was also a woman with girlish dreams, dreams of a husband who loved her just as much as the men in her poetry loved their women.

"Of course I'm not tired," Arya spat. "If Robb wasn't such an old man we could go for a few hours more."

"Old man!" Robb's voice rose, "Old man our lady says!" He turned to his men, "What say you to my sister?"

"Robb," Dacey laughed and glided along the deck, she had passed her book to Smalljon who peered at one of the pages. His cheeks that were not covered by his black beard coloured and he closed the book quickly. "I will accept the challenge of Lady Arya," she bowed mockingly.

"Don't call me Lady," Arya snapped and jerked her chin up in the air. "I'm much more than a lady."

"Right you are," Dacey cocked her head to the side as she pulled out her sword and Arya followed. "I had forgotten that now your brother is our King that it makes you our Princess." Dacey's eyes sparked with mischief as Arya's chest puffed up.

" _P-Princess!_ " Arya spluttered and held up her sword, "Oh I will show you a _Princess_ , Dacey Mormont!" She then proceeded to charge at the older woman who side stepped her.

Robb laughed, shaking his head as he went to take Dacey Mormont's place beside Smalljon. His friend then proceeded to open up Lady Mormont's book again and peer at the content on the page he had read. Once again a flush hurried up his cheeks and he had to close the book again, only curiosity got the better of Smalljon and he found himself reading intently. Robb was much too busy watching his sister and Dacey spar against each other, parrying their hits. Arya was not terrible but under Dacey's guidance she'd become an even fiercer warrior.

"Can you believe this, Your Grace?" Smalljon exclaimed, tapping his King's arm. "Can you believe the filth Lady Dacey reads?"

"I have told you to call me Robb, Smalljon," Robb reminded his friend only to look over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"' _He touched her petals and she bloomed'_ ," Smalljon read, eyes wide in amazement. "This is filth, utter filth. Why would anyone have such words for a _cunt_? Just get to the bloody point."

"It is poetry," Robb snickered at his friend.

"It's shite that's what it is," Smalljon scoffed. "' _Love garden'_ , ' _his rod of passion_ ', ' _the hard steel_ '."

"Lady Dacey is going to spar you next if you continue to read her Dornish poetry," Robb couldn't wait for the moment Lady Dacey stopped battling his sister to witness Smalljon.

"Right," Smalljon closed the book with a snap. "But the Dornish, I get they're very lustful but a cunt is a cunt, a cock a cock. What is this lady garden business?"

"They are trying to find more romantic words to appeal to a large audience," Robb explained before shrugging his shoulders. "I suppose it is meant for only a certain audience."

"Pansies and women," Smalljon snorted.

"Well done Arya," the two men turned their head to the two women who were shaking hands. "However, I would be happy to teach you better techniques if you would like?"

A grin spread across Arya Stark's face and she pulled her hand away to sheath her sword. "I'd love to," she then turned to sneer at her older brother. "Do you hear that Robb?"

"I heard it," Robb yanked the book from Smalljon's hands as he noticed the man was attempting to read it again. "Here Dacey," he handed it to the woman and her cheeks flushed.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Dacey murmured and hurried away from the siblings in embarrassment.

"I suppose Mother will be disappointed," Arya crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at her brother.

"I do not see how she could be disappointed," Robb smiled at her. "She will be glad that you are safe and well. That all her children are safe and well. I have sent a raven to Mother."

"I know," Arya smiled up at her brother. "I hope… I hope to be with them soon."

"And we will be," Robb vowed. "After this meeting with Queen Daenerys."

King Robb Stark was led into the throne room of the highest pyramid structure in Meereen. There sat a woman that paled in comparison to the rumours of the Dragon Queen. She was a woman who sat upon a throne and Robb Stark could only assume that he was a disappointment to her as well. He straightened his shoulders, as did Dacey Mormont and Greatjon Umber who flanked him. He studied the Queen as she studied him and he stepped forward only to take a deep vow, he would show her respect as he expected respect back.

Once he stood he was allowed nearer and it was there that he got a better look at the Queen. She was a year younger than he yet still appeared youthful with pale, smooth skin. She was covered by a deep blue dress that complimented her colouring well. She was very beautiful, her silvery strands of hair curling around her shoulders as she sat with her back straight. Robb Stark could see men fighting wars over the woman, she held a captivating beauty that was almost unearthly. He tore his eyes away from her to study the companions.

The first companion was a man that stood to the right of Robb Stark, one of the famed Unsullied he presumed. The man had dark skin and a head shaved, revealing his naked, black scalp to Robb. He was taller than Robb but thinner, yet Robb somehow doubted he would managed to win against the man in a battle. His lips were pressed together and he stared on ahead like a good soldier, revealing no opinion and holding his spear tightly as he waited for orders from his Queen. Robb Stark was impressed and he had been impressed as the Unsullied had led him to their Queen.

Standing on the right of the Queen was a woman with skin a shade or two paler than the Unsullied man who stood at the base of the steps. She also wore a dress of deep blue that complimented her colour. The woman appeared beautiful to Robb Stark's eyes, her skin was also smooth and she appeared youthful. Her hair was tamed by a band that matched the colour of her dress and her hair was dark in colour. Robb appreciated beautiful women like the next man but noticed the woman shifting uncomfortably under his face.

So Robb tore his gaze away from the woman and landed on the last companion on the left of the Queen. This companion stood much closer to her and stared at Robb, unfriendly. He was a large man with skin shades lighter than the woman beside the Queen but still much darker than the Queen. His hair was long and fell to his thighs, braided with beads woven into his hair. He also had a thick beard that was tapered, a bead holding the end of it together. He wore dark eye makeup around his eyes and his torso was bare, only paint marks like scars adorned his pectoral muscles.

"Robb Stark," the voice of the Queen was surprisingly deep for a female. "Or should I say, _King_ Robb Stark as you have declared yourself as King?"

"Queen Daenerys Targaryen," Robb attempted to give her his most charming, disarming smile. "It is an honour to meet you."

"I am sure it is," she studied him. "Yet your family were traitors to my Father, they slaughtered him. And yet you stand before me asking for an alliance?"

"We cannot help the past, Your Grace," Robb opened his hands. "Only shape the future."

"And how do I know you will not betray me?" She sneered. "They claim your Father was an honourable man, only he went to war against my family."

"We should let the past lie," Robb Stark was growing irritated. "Yet, may I remind you my family only joined the rebellion after Prince Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped and raped my aunt Lady Lyanna Stark and your Father killed my Grandfather Lord Rickon Stark and Uncle, Lord Brandon Stark."

"There are faults that lie on both sides of the war," that seemed enough to have Queen Daenerys drop her accusations. "Yet you stand before me, declared King of the North when I want my kingdoms together. All _seven_ of them."

"I was declared King Robb Stark of the North in a time of great turmoil for my people," Robb Stark told her calmly. "Yet I believe the North should remain absent from outside rule. We should be independent from the crown."

"I want my kingdoms together," the Queen snapped. "I will not have them any other way."

"Then I fear I have wasted our times," Robb Stark took a step back and went to bow to the Queen.

"You do not want your North back?" She asked, voice raising.

He smirked, he had her eating out of the palm of his hand. "I do, yet I will manage to find another way if I can keep the North independent."

Queen Daenerys pressed her lips together, "I need your support. Your fleet. I know of your success in cuckolding the false King," she placed her hands in her lap. "If you do not bend the knee to me and turn your people over to me I will introduce you to my dragons."

"My Queen," a nervous man suddenly spoke up. "I do not think that wise. The North is numerous, to make an enemy out of them will only make it that much harder to win over the Seven Kingdoms."

"The Westerosi man does have a point," Robb Stark guessed it was Ser Barristan Selmy who was acting as Hand of the Queen. "If you were to kill me know that the North would die by fire than hand themselves over to you."

"But I will not have my kingdoms fractured," she was growing frustrated now. "I want them all placed together."

"Then I cannot help you," Robb Stark gave her mock sympathy. "Apologies, Queen Daenerys, for deceiving you."

"Wait," she called. "If I were to give you the North to reign independently, as _King_ ," she was disgruntled by the word. "Will you swear the North will come to our aid?"

"For all future generations as long as the Crown keeps its word," Robb studied her.

"Good," a smile appeared on the woman's face. "Then we will agree on the best way to go about this. One of my people will become your Queen if the North is to rule separately."

"No," Robb was adamant he would at least make his own choice in his bride.

"Shame," Queen Daenerys looked down at her nails, "I suppose Drogon has developed quite the taste for human flesh, has he not Drogo?" The man grunted something in a language Robb did not understand.

"Wait," Robb held up his own hands. "Is this the only way the North will be guaranteed to be independent?"

"Yes," Queen Daenerys laid out her palm flat, "Unless you were to claim it over my dead body," instantly everyone in the room reached for weapons, "But I fear that is not possible as you will be slaughtered where you stand."

Robb's shoulders slumped, "Then we are in agreement. I will marry one of your people and back your cause, in return I remain King of the North."

"We are agreed," Queen Daenerys turned to the woman and said something in a language Robb did not understand once again. "You will be led to your chambers King Stark and we will get your betrothed ready for you."

It took years of training and everything within Robb Stark for him not to glare, scream and throw himself to her dragons. Robb Stark had weaselled his way out of a betrothal to one of Walder Frey's daughters or granddaughters, only to find himself forced into a marriage anyway. Though, what was worse? To marry a woman he had no idea about or have Walder Frey as a relative? Robb Stark straightened his shoulders and nodded at Queen Daenerys, taking a bow before turning and following one of the Unsullied who would lead them to their chambers.

"What the hell were you thinking Robb?" Arya suddenly demanded as they stepped out of the throne room.

"I was thinking that we needed to get our home back," he narrowed his eyes on his sister. "Better me than you."

Arya said nothing, her lips were pressed together tightly as they were split from each other. And it was good that it was not Arya, his mother had promised his sister to one of Walder Frey's many children or grandchildren. When he finally took over Winterfell he was going to break his contracts with Walder Frey, he was going to make sure the man never attempted to get something from the Starks ever again. Robb stepped into his chambers and pressed his head against the door, he just really did not want to be marrying someone not of his choosing.

Together, Robb sat with four of his companions in a garden as they waited for Queen Daenerys and her entourage. Smalljon was already in his cups whilst his father toyed with his beard, watching the Unsullied who stood not too far from them suspiciously. Robb looked to his sister who sat in pants and a tunic, hair loose and it fell in soft curls just below her shoulder. She was watching the Unsullied too, a glare on her face as she looked at them. Dacey was reading through her little book of poetry again, biting down on a slice of apple that had been left in front of them.

"Robb," Arya turned to her brother, "You have seriously agreed to marry any woman she chooses for you?"

"As long as she is not a child, yes," Robb Stark sighed heavily. "Would you rather we lose the North even further?"

"No," Arya frowned.

"Then do not argue with me Arya," Robb held his hand up to his sister. "If this marriage will allow the North to remain independent than I will do it. And I would rather marry a woman, than have you or Rickon be forced into a marriage."

Robb was, unfortunately, failing to see that his younger siblings were not so young anymore. Sansa was twenty and five, yet she was already married and was yet to give up on her marriage to Lord Tyrion Lannister. Arya was twenty and three, a woman young enough to marry but old enough that she should have married years ago. Bran, if he ever returned, was twenty and two, a man grown. He could have been a warrior, a knight, had he the use of his legs. And then there was Rickon, no longer a boy – he was ten and eight, a man old enough to marry.

"Here she comes," Greatjon Umber murmured and stood, smiling at the Queen as she made her way toward them.

Queen Daenerys was much smaller than Robb pictured but she was not tiny, she was just dwarfed by her large husband who stood behind her. He had a menacing glare that was enough to have Robb wish that he had chosen to be engulfed by dragon fire. The Queen came to a stop in front of him as did her entourage, she placed her hands in front of her stomach and studied him. It was a little hard to believe she had birthed three sons and her oldest was ten and one, she did not look old enough to have a boy that was nearly a man grown.

"Queen Daenerys," Robb could only offer his most charming smile. "I suppose my betrothed has been chosen?"

"Yes," Queen Daenerys straightened her shoulders. "I have a good feeling about our future, King Robb."

"As do I," Robb's eyes curiously ran over the women that surrounded the Queen. Which one of them was it? He was curious and he was a man, he wanted his wife to at least be somewhat attractive.

"Excuse us," she then said to her entourage but allowed her husband to come closer to her. The horse lord stood at least head and shoulders taller than his wife.

"Is there a problem with the betrothal?" Robb was curious as it seemed the woman was not amongst the Queen's entourage.

"She is yet to arrive," the Queen pursed her lips. "But I suppose I should allow you some knowledge. I have chosen a woman of the Dothraki."

Robb Stark was confused, as were his companions, "A Dothraki?"

"They are loyal," the Queen grew defensive over her people.

It was conflicting, a Dothraki bride for Robb Stark. His mother would be furious especially as she had not been at the wedding and it was not the wife she would see as ideal for her first-born son. He could imagine his men and his people, the reluctance to have an outsider rule as their Queen. Yet Robb could not back out, not when he was so close to having the North back. He could not wait for the Bolton Bastard to taste his steel and to rebuild Winterfell, to renew his legacy once again.

"Loyal," Greatjon Umber grumbled from the seat beside his son. "They are savages."

"Jon," Robb snapped, he did not want to upset Queen Daenerys.

He turned to watch as she breathed in deeply, "They do not have very good opinions of you either." She touched the bicep of her husband and he immediately looked down at her, expression softening. "My husband does not want to give up one of his people to you but he knows what this means for our alliance."

"As do I," Robb Stark straightened his shoulders. "I will marry the lady of your choosing."

Queen Daenerys bowed her head forward, turning to her husband to slip into a language that could only be assumed as Dothraki. It was clear the Queen and her husband were in love, with the way they looked at each other and touched each other. Even the way they moved proved they held a deep love for one another that could simply not be competed with. Robb Stark knew his mother and father had a marriage much like that once, when he had been alive. Robb wondered if he could have such a future with his new wife, but pushed the thought out of his mind.

A figure came running toward them and they came to a stop, blinking at the two before them before nodding in their direction. It was a woman with light brown skin and a toned body. Her arms were revealed in the brown cloth she wore, it could only be described as cloth as it really only covered her breasts and left the rest of her tone abdomen bared. Her waist tapered out into round hips that were covered by cloth trousers so similar to the brown cloth around her breasts. She was every bit Dothraki, from what Robb observed.

The woman had an oval face with a prominent nose, it was upturned a little at the end. Her lips were between full and thin, not too large but not too small and a deep pink colour. Her eyes were what caught him the most, though her body was mostly revealed to him, a black colour, Robb had never seen such eyes before. And they were framed by thick, long lashes that looked out of place on her. Long curls fell from her head the colour of black, competing against the stark, dark holes that were her eyes.

Strangely, she was beautiful though there was something savage and wild about her. Yet it was the same feeling he got when he looked at the Queen's horse lord so he knew they were of the same tribe. He gulped and looked toward his family and friends who were each studying the woman who arrived. Robb could have easily brushed off her presence had Queen Daenerys not suddenly moved to her and spoken the Dothraki tongue. The woman's eyes met his sharply and she studied him slowly, taking in every single stitching in his clothing and every single pore as she did so.

"King Robb Stark," Queen Daenerys laid a hand on the shoulder of the woman. "This is Zhalli, daughter of Ifakko and your future bride."

The woman stepped forward, arms crossed over her chest. "He is small," she said which was amusing coming from her. The woman came up to Robb's shoulders and whilst their height different was not as drastic as Queen Daenerys and her husband, it was not insignificant. He still stood head and half his shoulders above her.

"Not all Westerosi men are large," Queen Daenerys then frowned, looking to Smalljon and Greatjon who were both well over seven foot.

Zhalli, his betrothed, looked at the two men. "They look stronger," she then turned to her Queen. "Khaleesi, I will break him."

Greatjon let out a laugh that was loud enough to wake the dead, "Ye will not break our King lassie, many have tried and many have failed."

Confusion crossed her face but she turned away from Greatjon, "When will we be married?" She still studied him but betrayed no emotion, the question directed toward Queen Daenerys.

"As soon as possible," Queen Daenerys looked to Robb Stark. "Is that not agreeable?"

"It is agreeable," he then muttered and felt he had made the wrong decision.


	5. V

**So I'm very shaken from the season finale, like, wow. But I'm mad we have to wait so freaking long for season 8, which is why I'm going to be writing many fanfictions to curb my need to know if they all die or if my man Jon places himself on the Iron Throne.**

 **I won't spoil anything in case nobody has watched it but just know I have a lot of fanfictions for Game of Thrones - most of them are plenty AU as I like to explore "what if" scenarios rather than follow the series _exactly_ which is why this is set eleven years after Ned Stark's death.**

 **So I hope you enjoy this chapter, the wedding chapter is the next one I'm pretty sure. But I want you guys to know Zhalli and Robb are not in love and they're not going to be for a long, long time so they'll butt heads at times and things won't be perfect with his people as she's Dothraki and very foreign to them and you know how the Northerners are.**

 **So enjoy and thank you for supporting me with your reviews, follows and favourites xx**

* * *

 **V**

 **ZHALLI**

 **MARRIAGE** to a Westerosi man.

Zhalli dreaded her future to the man. Is it what the Great Stallion wanted? Zhalli stared at the table in front of her, picking at the wood. A piece of wood splintered and stuck itself in her forefinger. Zhalli only frowned and picked it out with her nails, not even wincing at the pain she caused herself. The woman was much more focused on her father who was pacing in front of her, frustrated with the Khal and Khaleesi. Zhalli was sure her father believed she would marry a Khal, rather than a foreign King.

Ifakko was incredibly mad at the idea of his daughter marrying a foreigner which was humorous in itself as her father was a man of Braavos. Still, she understood what he thought as he wanted her to marry a man that was not of Westeros. Ifakko wanted his daughter to marry a Dothraki man, rather than be taken from him to live in a land so foreign to them that Zhalli could not even picture it. He finally spun around and slammed his hands down on top of the table, breathing heavily as he narrowed his eyes on his daughter.

"You will make the Khal and Khaleesi proud," was all he said before he grasped some of his weapons and left the house.

He was going to work out his frustration with the rest of his men, Zhalli breathed in deeply as the door shut behind him. What would her mother say? Zhalli had no idea but she rather felt that she was standing in her mother's shoes. Yet her father had been raised Dothraki, it had to be different than marrying a man who had no idea about her culture. Zhalli rested her elbow on the table and placed her head in her hand, a frown on her face.

The wedding would be soon, according to the Khaleesi as she wanted to make sure the man could not escape the marriage. Zhalli found this strange, the Khal then explained that they would soon head to Westeros to slay the men in iron and take back the land for their Khaleesi. Zhalli stood slowly and moved to the kitchen, which was such a strange invention but she pulled an urn of wine out of the bottom of the cabinets. Grasping a ceramic goblet, Zhalli poured some wine into the goblet.

Zhalli looked up as the front door opened, "Zhalli." Jhiqui stepped into the house, "You marry a foreigner." They spoke in their language, Dothrak.

"Yes," Zhalli held up the urn of wine. "Wine?"

"Yes," Jhiqui pointed to the table. "I can sit?"

Nodding, Zhalli poured her friend some wine and the two of them sat down at the table. There was an age difference between the two of them, six years exactly. Zhalli got along with the other woman however and wondered what the woman would say about Zhalli's impending marriage. What would the man of Westeros think of a Dothraki wedding? Sipping from the sweet wine that was made in Meereen, Zhalli blinked dully at the wooden table and could not help the powerful slump that took over her shoulders.

"Rakharo and I will wed after you have wed the foreigner," Jhiqui told Zhalli.

"The Khaleesi does not want the man to run," Zhalli looked down at the dark liquid in her cup. "She fears he will attempt to escape."

"He will not escape," Jhiqui sounded assure of herself. "He will not risk the wrath of our Khaleesi."

"Nor her dragons," Zhalli agreed. "I must marry him for our people and our Khaleesi."

"You will be a Khaleesi of his people," Jhiqui suddenly brightened. "Rakharo said the man is a Khal of his people but I do not understand his ways. They do not have the Great Stallion, they wear strange animal pelt that restricts them."

"I did not wish to be a Khaleesi," Zhalli grimaced. "But I will do my best to make the Khal and Khaleesi proud."

Jhiqui reached over to squeeze her hand, "Do you know what the bedding consists of?"

"He will mount me as a stallion does," Zhalli nodded. "I am prepared."

Jhiqui blinked, "He is a foreigner. Do they mount?"

Zhalli then frowned, "Is there other ways to mate?"

"I do not know," Jhiqui's shoulders slumped. "Perhaps we should ask one of the other women?"

"No," Zhalli shook her head. "I will accept my duty as the Khaleesi to this strange, Westerosi Khal. It is my duty to be mounted and provide strong sons for him."

"You will do him proud," Jhiqui then studied her friend. "Have you spoken with him?"

"No," Zhalli shook her head quickly. "Not yet."

It was as if she had not gotten a chance to speak with him, not yet at least. He was busy, discussing plans with the Khal and Khaleesi, learning about her people. She was not sure what to say to the man if she was to speak to him either, what did one say to the man they were about to marry? It confused Zhalli an awful lot, and she was not sure of the customs of Westerosi marriage, and she did not think the Khaleesi knew much of it either since she had not grown up in the land that Zhalli's future husband had lived in all his life.

Zhalli pushed some of her curls out of her face and ran her tongue over her top teeth. Jhiqui was sipping her wine and silence fell over the two of them. Jhiqui was marrying a man for love, which Zhalli was curious about. Her parents had been in love, she had heard stories from others of how her mother convinced Ifakko to marry her. Zhalli treasured those stories, they had been one of her greatest loves as a child as she would fall asleep with the idea she would find such a man. Yet she had come to accept as she aged it was unlikely to happen for her.

It seemed the unlikeliest event that Zhalli would be married off to a foreigner. It was going to happen and if she escaped she would bring shame upon her Khal, Khaleesi and Father – she could not do that to them. Rising from the table, Zhalli headed into the kitchen and straightened her shoulders. There was a small window that faced the strange structure the Khaleesi lived in, it was such a strange structure and Zhalli wondered how the Khal lived in such a structure as it seemed that it would be stifling to live there.

Jhiqui left not long after, waving at her friend and Zhalli headed into her chambers. She sat down on the small bed and placed her head in her hands, breathing deeply. Marriage was not something to be taken lightly, all women knew that. And she was marrying a man who was not of her people, a man that was going to take her away from all she had known. It made her resent the Khal and Khaleesi, if only just a little bit as they were the ones behind the plans.

The next time she saw them it would likely be the day they were to be wed, though she could not guarantee that she would not see him before that time. He was such a strange man, Zhalli did not know whether to find him attractive or not. He had curls like her own but they were a lighter colour, brown but appeared red in the afternoon sun. His eyes were also the colour of the ocean which was intimidating all in itself, as Dothraki did not like the ocean so she thought it a bad omen. Yet she would cross the see and find herself in his land after their marriage.

The man also had very pale skin, much paler than Ifakko's who was also a foreigner. Yet the men and women who had stood around him when they had met for the first time were also pale. And they all spoke with a similar accent except for the woman with the brown hair that fell just below her shoulders. Zhalli was curious about all of them, because he commanded their respect but he did not seem like the Khal or Khaleesi. And the man was taller than her but was dwarfed by the Khal and the two men who stood behind him, he did not seem a man.

Shaking her head, Zhalli threw herself back against her bed and resigned herself to accept her fate. It was not going to be a marriage she could escape from, and she could only hope that she would be as happy with the man as the Khal was with the Khaleesi and she was a foreigner. Staring up at the ceiling, Zhalli bit down on her bottom lip and still wondered about the man. She could not help the curiosity within her that wished to be sated. Westeros seemed a strange place and so did the people.

* * *

"Zhalli," she rose from her seated position as the Khaleesi entered the room. "Do not stand," she lowered herself to the seat as the Khaleesi did the same. "You honour us for accepting the betrothal," Khaleesi smiled. "I know it is difficult to marry a man so different to you but we are honoured by your acceptance."

"Khaleesi," Zhalli licked her lips. "I will be his Khaleesi?"

"You will," Khaleesi smiled. "But you will be known as Queen," she said the word in the common tongue and Zhalli furrowed her brows. It had the same meaning as Khaleesi did it not?

"The place of Westeros, what is it like?" Zhalli asked suddenly.

The Khaleesi looked troubled, "I do not know. I was raised here all my life."

A person peered in the doorway and both women turned their heads. It was the woman that had been seen with Zhalli's betrothed. She was pretty with a long face and brown curls that fell just below her shoulders. She had long limbs and her curves were hidden behind a tunic and large pants. Her large grey eyes watched them all suspiciously, studying the Khaleesi and then Zhalli. What did she want with them? Zhalli wondered as the Khaleesi rose from her seat to greet the woman who stepped back like a skittish, unbroken horse.

"Lady… Arya Stark?" The Khaleesi sounded unsure, the name was foreign to Zhalli as she studied the woman.

"I am no lady," Arya Stark seemed to answer. "But yes," her eyes slid to Zhalli, judging her.

"How did you slip passed the Unsullied?" The Khaleesi suddenly demanded and Zhali rose in her seat, she would protect the Khaleesi with her life if she needed.

"I have had years of practice," Arya Stark shrugged her shoulders. "I wanted to see my brother's betrothed."

Zhalli watched the woman as her eyes ran over Zhalli's frame. She still wore what she would wear had they not been in Meereen, something most of the Dothraki wore. She stood the same height as Arya, both of them were taller than the Khaleesi but still much shorter than others. They were average, not too tall and not too short. Zhalli was of course darker than Arya Stark, her skin a light brown whereas the skin of Arya Stark appeared white like milk. Zhalli crossed her arms over her chest and could not help herself as she rose a challenging eyebrow.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Zhalli placed her hands down on the back of the chair in front of her.

"I want to know about the Dothraki," Arya Stark suddenly said, jerking her chin up.

"Why does she want to know about us?" Zhalli frowned as she looked over at the Khaleesi, she had slipped into the Dothraki language.

The Khaleesi studied Arya Stark, "I think she is a warrior."

"Oh," Zhalli pressed her lips together. "What do you want to know?" She slipped into the Common Tongue.

Arya Stark took a seat at the table in front of her, Khaleesi immediately took a seat and Zhalli was the last to pull the chair back to sit down. Her hands were together as she rested them on the table, looking at the woman who suddenly leaned back in her seat. She sat openly, with a careless attitude to everything she seemed to do and Zhalli was curious. This woman would become her sister when Zhalli was married to her brother. They did not look very similar yet for their noses, long faces and their pale, freckled skin.

"Do you use a blade?" The girl suddenly demanded in a petulant tone.

What would the Khaleesi do? Zhalli wondered, if the girl continued to speak rudely to her Zhalli worried. If this girl, which was how Zhalli referred to her though she was not sure of the age different between them, continued to disrespect the Khaleesi there would be no telling what the Khaleesi would do.

"Like a sword?" She then leaned forward, "Because I've heard of the Dothraki and I know how fierce you are." Zhalli was puzzled with the word fierce.

"Thank you," the Khaleesi answered for her. "The Dothraki truly are a fierce race of people." She was their Khaleesi, she could take the compliment. "Zhalli does well with a blade, bow and with a whip."

Arya Stark seemed to have renewed respect for Zhalli, "How long have you been learning to fight?"

Zhalli looked to the Khaleesi who motioned for her to speak, "For as long as I can remember." It had been no problem, she had been placed on a horse before she could even walk and the whip came naturally to her. Using it as a weapon had been accidental, a rival Khalasar had attempted to steal one of the younger girls. Zhalli had taken her whip and wrapped it around the man's neck, he was her first kill. Then the bow had been placed in her hands as she aged and then the sword recently, she was still practicing.

"And there is no issue?" Arya Stark suddenly asked, childlike wonder in her eyes. How old was she? Zhalli wondered.

"No," Zhalli shook her head. "Why would there be issue?" She directed the question to the Khaleesi.

"Women in Westeros are not known to take up a weapon," the Khaleesi explained.

"That is stupid," Zhalli furrowed her brows.

"Exactly!" Arya suddenly grinned, pounding her fist down on the table. "I like you," she suddenly said. "I was worried you were going to be like my older sister Sansa."

There was another one? "Why?" Zhalli frowned.

Arya waved her hand, "Sansa is a princess. She always wants to be perfect," Arya then sneered.

"Why would I be like that?" Zhalli then asked her Khaleesi.

"Because Robb would only marry someone like Sansa or our Mother," Arya paused. "That is the way Mother would have it." Everything seemed to brighten on her face suddenly, "But Mother has no choice in this!"

Zhalli blinked slowly, "This is acceptable to you?"

Arya Stark had a bright grin on her face, "Thank you." She then paused, "What is your name?"

"Zhalli," she said her name slowly so the pronunciation was easy to understand. How was it that the woman had not caught her name? Zhalli had caught her name. _Arya Stark._ Strange, like her brother's name. _Robb Stark._

"Thank you, Zhalli," Arya said her name carefully. "Thank you, Queen Daenerys," she bowed suddenly and then turned on her heel to exit through the doors that were opened by the Unsullied.

Zhalli then turned her curious eyes to the Khaleesi, "She is strange." The Khaleesi suddenly said, "But I like her."

"You do?" Zhalli blinked slowly.

"Yes," the Khaleesi spoke with conviction. They were interrupted once again by Missandei who wore a light orange dress and glided into the room, hands in front of her. She bent close to the Khaleesi's ear, whispering in low tones in a language Zhalli did not know. The Khaleesi rose suddenly, "Excuse me, Zhalli." The Khaleesi took a deep breath, "I need to speak with the Khal, I will see you later."

Standing, Zhalli watched as the Khaleesi left through the open doors with Missandei at her heels. Zhalli followed, but she kept her distance from them and turned down an empty corridor. There she pressed her head against the cool stone, rubbing a hand across the back of her neck and taking a deep breath. Rolling her shoulders back, Zhalli pressed her lips together and decided she would go to the training grounds. It was there she would find her people and most likely her Father, it was there she would challenge someone to help her practice the sword.

The sun was high in the sky as Zhalli stepped onto the platform, many of her people were already practicing with each other. The Khal was nowhere to be seen but many of his bloodriders were there, like her father. Zhalli rubbed her hands together and she went to stand beside him, standing with her back straight. Ifakko rose a brow as he looked down at her, saying nothing but turning to face some of the young men he was training. Including the two older sons of the Khaleesi and Khal.

"I have seen the man you are to marry," Ifakko crossed his arms over his chest. "I am not impressed."

"I know," Zhalli pressed her lips together. "He is not… a warrior."

"Yet he is," Ifakko told his daughter. "He is impressive with a sword. He is a warrior."

"But he is pale and small," Zhalli murmured. But he was still larger than her. "His hair… it is short, he has not won many battles?"

"They are not like us," Ifakko studied the men. "Their hair does not mean they are strong warriors," Ifakko studied his daughter. "You must give your husband a chance, he will surprise you Zhalli."

* * *

A husband completed a woman, according to what her mother had told her so long ago. While the Dothraki were not too particular with gender roles, marriage was a sanction and a partnership – very important in their society. Her mother was in love with her husband, so it was no wonder she believed that a husband completed her. Yet Zhalli was rather confused as to how the pale man would ever complete her, he seemed like he would only serve to disappoint her. She mused as she studied him, speaking with his giant, grey-haired bloodrider. That was what she compared the man to, yet she was not entirely sure what he did.

"Khal Robb," she said, stepping up beside him and the large man who she had to tilt her head all the way up to look at. Even then the sun was bright and she had to drop her gaze.

Her words seemed to get their attention and their conversation stopped. "Zhalli," he said smoothly, a lopsided smile on his face. That was strangely attractive, especially with the indent in his cheek. "It is nice to see you," he said suddenly, straightening his shoulders back and turning to give her all of his attention.

"Excuse me, Your Grace," the man suddenly said, studying Zhalli before leaving them alone.

"Do you wish to speak to me about something, Z-Zhalli?" He said her name slowly and stuttered around it, as if unsure of how to say it.

"I wish to know more about you," she straightened her shoulders. "I have the luxury of meeting you before we marry," she had to look up at him which never usually bothered her. But it bothered her with him.

"You do?" Robb Stark then nodded his head, "Then come." He motioned for her to walk, "What do you wish to know?"

"You are from the West?" She suddenly demanded as they walked through the gardens they had met in a day earlier. "What can you tell me about the West? I will live there, yes?"

"Yes," Robb Stark rubbed the back of his neck. "It is much different from your people, my Lady." He suddenly said and she frowned at him, "Apologies, Zhalli," he still seemed to struggle to say her name. "I do not think you will like it."

"Why?" She demanded, hands on her hips as she followed after him, only to back up when he turned around.

"Because the North is a cold, harsh place." Robb Stark said, "Where I lived especially. Winterfell is beautiful but it carves hard men." Robb flicked a curl from his forehead, "And our traditions… you may not like them."

"What are they?" Zhalli was curious, very curious. "What are your traditions? Do you worship the Great Stallion?"

"No," he shook his head. "We have different Gods. My Gods are the Old Gods and we pray in the Godswood." He then cleared his throat, "If we were to marry in the North we would swear to each other in the Godswood and I would cloak you."

"Cloak me?" She peered at him in confusion, "What does this mean?"

"I would take my coat and place it over your shoulders after removing the coat you had arrived to our ceremony," Robb explained. "It means I would take you under my protection and into my home."

"Oh," Zhalli scrunched her nose up. "Why?"

Robb paused, "It is our traditions. We will marry in the way of the Dothraki, Queen Daenerys has already told me."

"You know of our traditions?" She blinked her large, brown eyes up at him.

"Yes," he offered an explanation. "It is only right that I learn about your people."

"Our wedding will be soon," Zhalli pressed her hands together. "You know that it will begin at dusk and only end at dawn?"

"Queen Daenerys has told me of this," he did not seem in the least bit worried. Zhalli was suspicious, studying him as they walked. He kept his feelings hidden, why?

"And you will mount me as a stallion would," Zhalli then cocked her head to the side. "Have you seen the mating between a stallion and his mare?"

Robb Stark suddenly paused and turned to her, "Please explain."

"You will mount me as a stallion," Zhalli was confused. What more was there to understand? "You will take me under the sky as a stallion would his mare in front of the Great Stallion."

He seemed to gulp strangely and he averted his eyes from her, "I will mount you?" He then suddenly turned away from her and pushed his curls away from his head. They tumbled down the back and Zhalli found herself fascinated as they caught the light and turned a brilliant shade of copper-brown. She itched to touch them but clenched her hand into a fist instead.

"Yes," she then said. "Am I not saying the right words?"

Robb Stark cleared his throat and turned to her, "No. It's fine, I understand what you mean."

"Good," she then placed her hands behind her back. "And you will place a child in my womb and I will consume the heart of a stallion to prove that I will give you a son."

"Uh," Robb Stark's eyebrows furrowed and he looked right at Zhalli. "And what about my culture?"

"Oh…" Zhalli pulled her own brows together. "We will live in your culture when we take back the West?"

"Yes," Robb Stark rolled his shoulders back. "But we cannot change who you are. You will always be a Dothraki," he then rubbed his forehead. "There might be some challenges when I take back my home, some people might protest my wife being Dothraki."

"Why?"

"Because my people are traditionalists and they like perfect wives," Robb murmured. "My Mother especially. A wife who will be quiet and obedient, who will never hold a weapon and who will follow my every order."

"What is a wife if she does not challenge you?" Zhalli asked, "If she is not your partner?"

Robb Stark looked a little conflicted, "Excuse me Zhalli." He then proceeded to leave her in the gardens and she clicked her tongue.

Would she be happy with him? Zhalli could not tell as he sauntered down the path, disappearing around the corner and from view. Perhaps she could be satisfied enough with being a Khaleesi and having children. Turning her back, she decided to walk the other way to find someone who would interest her a lot more than Robb Stark. Perhaps his sister, or perhaps she would talk to the giant men that followed him.

No one was around however, except for a few Unsullied and Zhalli was resigned to her fate. Marriage to Robb Stark would be very different to something she had seen before, especially as he was a man from the West and she still was confused by them. Crossing her arms over her chest she left by the gardens and turned her head, spotting Robb Stark walking away from the gardens with the large man she had spotted before. Shaking her head, she did not bother to confront him, instead she headed the opposite way and decided to head home.

The streets of Meereen were wide and twisted, filled with bad smells that had improved since Khaleesi had taken over and given the people hope. There was still the poor who begged on the streets, Zhalli really had nothing to give them as the Dothraki did not believe in the use of coin. That made her think as she made her way to her street, what would she do when she had to deal with coin? It would be inevitable as she would be marrying a man from the West and new that they mostly dealt in coin rather than trade.

Inside her home, Zhalli looked around the dimly lit room and headed to the kitchen. Hardly ever did her father spend time there as he had to be close to the Khal and Khaleesi as he was their bloodrider. He needed to be close to them just in case, which was why the house was given to Zhalli and left her feeling alone. Pulling out some wine, which was still strange on her taste buds and got her drunk quicker, she went to her room. Sitting on her bed, she leaned against the corner of the wall and poured herself wine, listening to the sounds of the city.


	6. VI

**I should have you know I completely forgot I wrote a Sansa chapter, so the wedding is probably next chapter.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

 **VI**

 **SANSA**

 **PREGNANT.** Sansa looked to the old Maester who left her, hurrying out of her chambers. Sansa stood slowly, smoothing down her skirts and breathing deeply. It seemed there were many changes in her family, Robb had found Arya according to his latest letter which had Sansa's heart soaring as her family was slowly beginning to be pieced together. Yet there would be a new addition. She placed her hand on her abdomen that had grown, but she had placed it out of her mind that she would never have a child. Not that her husband was not virile, but he had taken her maidenhead a year earlier and she had not been given a child.

"Lady Sansa," her servant, Joanna, nervously moved into the room. "Lord Tyrion has asked for you."

"Yes," Sansa straightened herself, smiling at her servant. Did the girl know? Sansa wondered, as she placed her hand on her stomach. Yes, her stomach was much larger. The Maester had been sure she was nearing her fifth month.

"Lady Sansa," Joanna's hand nervously shook. "And there are letters waiting for you, from your mother and brother."

"Thank you," Sansa smiled at her servant. "I will meet with my husband now."

Casterly Rock was a large, great keep that fulfilled Sansa's girlhood dreams of being a great lady of a Southern house. And there was no gloom to it when she had first arrived with her lord husband after Lord Tywin had died mysteriously and Lord Tyrion was declared Lord of Casterly Rock, rather mockingly by his nephew. Sansa felt at home, in a way that she never thought she would have felt. She was a true Southern lady with her mother's beauty and elegance, Sansa Stark was also a powerful Lady of the House. She was a good woman, one her husband was proud of.

"Lady Sansa," Lord Tyrion smiled up at her from his desk. "Letters arrived for you," he slid them across the desk as she sat down at the chair across from him.

"My Lord," Sansa fiddled with her hands in her lap. "I have news."

"Oh?" Lord Tyrion looked up from his own letters he was penning, meeting her eyes with the same intelligence that had her respecting him.

"I am with child," the words came out quickly. He looked up at her, mouth slightly ajar. Shock was not something Lord Tyrion Lannister felt, most often.

"Is that so?" He said the words slowly and ended them as a question.

"Yes," she breathed in deeply. "The Maester said I am nearing my fifth moon."

Tyrion's eyes flickered to her swollen stomach, "I suppose we should have seen this coming."

"I suppose we should have my Lord," Sansa gave him a crooked grin. From the moment she had given him her maidenhead, Lord Tyrion became a lover to her. They enjoyed each other for companionship and Sansa made no efforts to protect herself from a child because she longed for one. She longed to be a mother.

"I admit my shock," Lord Tyrion then smiled at her. "Though I suppose I will have to write to the King of this news."

"I am sure your sister will be most pleased," Sansa rolled her eyes and her husband snorted.

"I wish I could see her face when she learns of this," there was childlike delight on his face. "Cersei will be enraged."

"My Mother will not be pleased," Sansa ran her hand over her stomach. Lady Catelyn Stark had wanted the marriage to be voided, but Sansa rebelled against her mother because she enjoyed her marriage to Tyrion Lannister.

"Your Mother will never be pleased," Tyrion could not help but say bitterly. "But I am pleased, as are you I hope?"

"Of course I am pleased," Sansa smiled at her Lord husband. "A child is what I have longed for," she admitted to him, cheeks colouring almost to the same shade as her auburn hair. "Thank you, Lord Tyrion."

"Do not thank me," he smiled at her, that sharp, witty smile and she knew he would say something utterly distasteful. "It really was my pleasure," her cheeks burned and she reached forward to grasp her letters.

"Excuse me," she then rose from her seat. "I suppose I should reply to my Mother and brother now."

"No," he suddenly said. "Excuse me," he then smiled at her. "I think I will meet with Bronn to share the good news."

"And to drown yourselves in wine?" Sansa asked as she rose to sit behind his desk.

"I suppose there is that," Tyrion waved his hand. "It is always best to celebrate good news though, is it not?"

"Of course," Sansa smoothed down her skirts and began to open her Mother's letter. "But please do not wake the keep up again husband."

"I promise," he gave her a mocking bow and sauntered from the room.

Sansa shook her head at her husband and peeled the parchment from the letter. Her mother's writing grew increasingly worried and increasingly enraged as none of her children seemed to obey her. Lady Catelyn Stark was angry with Robb for abandoning them suddenly and letting the Boltons take the North, giving no vengeance to their father whose body was still held in King's Landing. She was angry with Sansa for still marrying a Lannister, a man part of the family that had killed her husband.

 _My darling Sansa,_

 _Your brother has told me of Arya, how he found her in Essos. Have you known? Perhaps you do, yet he will not send her to me – he will not tell me much else. I am frustrated with your brother, he must return to take back our honour, our seat. Yet he refuses, he allows the Boltons to make a mockery of Winterfell, for your sister to remain unwed as a woman of three and twenty. He allows your marriage to the Lannister scum, what must I do to make you children listen to me once again?_

Lowering the letter, Sansa found she had no patience for her mother. Catelyn Stark could complain all she liked, her children were adults who wanted to make their decisions for once. Too often Sansa had been a pawn in someone else's game, now she was the Lady of Casterly Rock with a child on the way and she would do nothing to change that. Instead, Sansa reached for her brother's letter. Robb, her heart ached to see him again and she could not imagine what he looked like. Did he look as Father once did? Or as her Grandfather as a young man?

 _Dear Sansa,_

 _We arrived in Meereen and I've got to tell you, it's hot, stinking hot. Queen Daenerys is a curious person, a small woman with a lot of power. I think you'd admire her, I'm sure your Lord Husband would be most interested in meeting her. The Dothraki and Unsullied are both sights to behold, fierce warrior people so dedicated to their Queen, or Khaleesi in the word of the Dothraki. I am proud and honoured to have my proposal accepted by Queen Daenerys, the North will be free once again from the Seven Kingdoms._

 _And there is my news, the news of how I even convinced Queen Daenerys to accept our alliance. I am to marry one of her people, a woman of the Dothraki. When mother finds out I expect she will be infuriated and the Freys will be insulted. How do you feel about it Sansa? My wife is not to be a perfect woman, instead she will be a woman that Arya will admire. I cannot back out on this alliance, I refuse to back out on such a thing when I am so close to getting out home back._

 _Robb_

Sansa lowered the letter, a little surprised. Yet many had to marry for alliances and her brother, who was King in the North, was no different. Yet a Dothraki, Sansa wondered how the people in the North would feel having their King take a foreigner as a bride, especially one so different. Sansa bit down on her bottom lip, letting the letter fall to the desk and placing her hand on her stomach. Catelyn Stark would be furious as it meant her son had gone out of his way to ignore her, choosing his own bride rather than agreeing to her choice.

Standing up from the desk, Sansa gathered her letters and waddled out of the room. She nodded at the servants she passed, heading to the gardens. Handing the letters to one of the servants, she came to the very edge of the gardens that looked out at the ocean that Casterly Rock overlooked. Feeling a fluttering in her stomach, Sansa reached down to rub her hand over the bulge, taking a deep breath with a smile. This was her home now, the rough waves that crashed against the cliff face Sansa peered over. It was her home and nothing could take it from her.

Tyrion Lannister and his right-hand man, Ser Bronn, entered the room. Sansa looked up from her meal, watching as the two of them stumbled up to the table and slid in their seats. Tyrion took a seat on her left side and Bronn took a seat on Tyrion's left side. Sansa lifted up her watered-down wine, grasping the goblet and pulling it to her lips. The two of them were attempting not to draw attention to themselves but she heard one of the servants snickered on the right side of the room, clearly delighted by what their Lord was doing.

"Sansa," Tyrion leaned over, placing a hand on her stomach. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome," she smiled at him and then leaned over to look at Bronn. "How do you do, Ser Bronn?"

The man stopped his chewing, swallowed and turned to her with lazy appreciation. "Well, Lady Sansa," he grinned at her. "I suppose you're doing better than most?"

"Yes," Sansa reached down to rub her hand over her stomach. "I suppose I am doing much better than most these days," she was so grateful that she would have a child in her arms soon.

"I can't believe you're having children," Bronn snorted at Tyrion.

Sansa pursed her lips and decided to change the subject, "My brother is going to be wed soon."

"Rickon?" Tyrion suddenly looked up at his wife with a frown.

"No," Sansa rolled her eyes. "I received a letter from Robb, he is to be wed."

"Ah," Tyrion nodded. "When he returns then? I do not know if you will be well enough to travel to the Riverlands."

"It is not to Lord Frey's daughter," Sansa wondered what they would think. "My brother is to marry a Dothraki."

Both men stopped their drinking and chewing, turning to Sansa who was a little smug she had their attention. "A Dothraki?" Bronn whistled.

"Yes," Sansa nodded. "It is the request Queen Daenerys made of him to make sure the North remains independent from her rule."

Tyrion Lannister nodded his head, "It would make sense. She would still want one of her people in the North."

"Yes," Sansa nodded and a grin appeared on her face. "Yet Mother will be furious. A Dothraki is not exactly a proper lady, are they?"

"No," Bronn snickered. "I think they might be worse than the Dornish."

"Mm," Tyrion Lannister nodded his head slowly. "I do not think much of the North will like having a Dothraki as their Queen."

"They do not like outsiders much," Sansa admitted. "However, they will have to deal with it because it will mean that the North is their own. They do not have to answer to a Targaryen."

"Like we will," Tyrion Lannister mused. "It is why I sent a raven to the Queen and said House Lannister will support her."

Sansa's eyes widened, "Truly? I know we have control of House Lannister yet your sister and her spawn still control the Iron Throne."

"Yes," Tyrion pursed his lips. "That is most unfortunate that my sweet sister still covets the crown." He then sneered, "Endless pampering from my father, I would blame it on her. He always told her she'd be Queen."

"And if Queen Daenerys says yes?" Sansa asked, "That will be the North, Riverlands and the Westerlands backing her claim. Three out of the Seven Kingdoms and her army from Essos, that is not a bad challenge." Though some of the Westerlands were still loyal to Cersei, though even they had become to see how crazed she and Joffrey were.

It was such a casual conversation over dinner, discussing Cersei Lannister being thrusted from the throne by the Dragon Queen. Sansa Stark, or Sansa Lannister as the people in the Westerlands referred to her as, would cheer when Cersei Lannister was executed. Sansa hoped that there would be a large gathering, that Queen Daenerys would invite nobles from far and wide to view the public execution of Cersei Lannister. Sansa felt her stomach fluttered and she grinned, it seemed that her child also agreed with the sentiment of Cersei Lannister's execution being something they would enjoy.

"So about your brother…" Tyrion pursed his lips together. "Do you know when they will be returning to Westeros?"

"No," Sansa shook her head. "I have no idea. It should surely not take too long," Sansa pursed her lips.

"Let's hope that we'll get to see another battle," Bronn cheered and lifted up his ale. "I would enjoy fucking a Dothraki, I bet they could be rather wild."

"Ser Bronn," Sansa stared at him, levelling him with an intense stare that had only once been seen on her mother. "Must I remind you that you have a perfectly agreeable wife, in the Lady Lollys Stokeworth?"

"Ah," Bronn then winked at Sansa. "Thank you for reminding me," he then clicked his tongue, "It is disappointing I do not get to sample a woman of the Dothraki."

Sansa Stark rolled her eyes, "That is a shame." She then sent a scathing look to her husband, "I do hope that you also do not wish to get a taste of what the Dothraki offer." She raised a brow, "Surely it will be just enough to watch your goodbrother live with such a woman."

Tyrion Lannister nodded his head, "I would not dream of it, my Lady."

"Surely not," Sansa muttered sarcastically. "Not if you expect to wake up with a cock, my love." It was so casual, her words that Bronn ended up choking on his ale.

"Well," Tyrion straightened his shoulders. "I best be keeping to myself then."

"That would be best," Sansa smiled at him and reached down, running her finger over her belly. "I cannot imagine what to tell our child when they grow older the reason why they do not have siblings." She shrugged her shoulders, "Bronn does know that we are having a child, does he not?"

"I was surprised that he got his cock to work," Bronn was not one for pretty words like the knights in tales Sansa used to read. Lord Tyrion was a little better with his words, but he still kept the company of Bronn.

"I am going to stop the conversation there," Sansa held up her hand. "There will be no discussion of this any longer," Sansa breathed in deeply. "Excuse me," she rose from the table, "I want to go to the Godswood." It was small and much less impressive than the one in Winterfell, from what she remembered, but at least there was one.

Standing up from the table, she left the two of them and moved out of the hall. One of Tyrion's many cousins that had put up no fight with him taking over, was one of her handmaidens. She was a pretty girl with golden-red hair and eyes that were similar to the colour of the forest. Myriam Lannister, the daughter of an unknown cousin but Tyrion assured they were respectable. Sansa still did not trust them, but since they had arrived in Casterly Rock she had attempted to grow comfortable. It was not the den of snakes King's Landing was, but she was still not home.

"Lady Sansa," Myriam smiled up at her. "I wish to congratulate you on your child."

"Thank you," Sansa's hand reached down to touch her stomach lightly. "How are you feeling, Myriam?"

"Well, my Lady," Myriam smoothed down her light lavender dress. "Father wishes to marry me off, I wished to ask for your opinion of the different houses he has considered."

Myriam's father was a distant cousin of Joanna Lannister, still a Lannister but not a Lord. He was still wealthy as most Lannisters were, a merchant who spent a lot of his time in Essos selling gold and other wealthy products. Myriam might've had offers from a lord in another time, especially one that was searching for wealth. She might be lucky for a minor lord, but with all the houses that were struggling Sansa did not think they would look to an untitled Lannister for a bride.

"My opinion," Sansa breathed in deeply. "It should be my Lord husband's opinion you seek. Unfortunately, not everyone will wish to marry a Lannister."

"I know," Myriam was so young, as young as she had been when she had gone to King's Landing.

"Good," Sansa reached out to place a hand on Myriam's shoulder. "Neither you nor your father should have high expectations for a good match."

Myriam's head hung low, "There should be others that do not mind Cousin Cersei?"

Sansa's eyes narrowed, "Cousin Cersei…" she pressed her lips together. "Unfortunately my goodsister has made many choices that we do not agree with," particularly fucking her brother and allowing Lord Eddard Stark to have his head removed. "So any match she could guarantee for you would potentially make you an enemy of this house. Is that what you want?"

"No," Myriam shook her head, "Of course not."

"Good," Sansa then held out her hand. "Let us continue to the Godswood."

Alone in the Gods wood a sennight later, Sansa prayed for her brother and his future wife. They had to have been married, a letter had not yet arrived informing her of the wedding but she could only imagine. The Dothraki was so different from them that she highly doubted that her brother could find happiness with such a woman. Yet, Sansa was puzzled. She was much happier with Tyrion since she had been in her childhood, she had never thought to find happiness with him.

Perhaps her brother could find happiness with his wife. She would not be the woman his mother would have chosen for him, but Tyrion was not the man her mother would have chosen for her either. Sansa's stomach rolled and she felt ill, pushing herself to her feet she reached out to rest her hand against the tree. Her head was heavy and she was tired, turning on her heels Sansa decided to head back to the keep. It was best for her to get some rest, pregnancy was taking a toll on her.

"Lady Sansa," one of the servants gazed at her in concern. "You do not appear well," the girl looked around. "Would you like me to fetch a Maester?"

"Please," Sansa was wary, which was why she sent for a Maester often as she did not wish to cause a problem that would make her lose her child. "Tell him that I will be in my chambers, and send for Lord Tyrion if you can."

"Of course my lady," the girl looked a little wary. "Yet, Lord Tyrion seems to be drowning himself in wine this evening. I do not think he will be well enough."

"Then fetch the Maester," Sansa was a little frustrated.

In her chambers, Sansa seated herself by the window that overlooked the ocean. Sansa grimaced, reaching out to rub her abdomen that seemed to grow even larger with passing days. Sansa looked over as the doors to her chambers opened and the young, kind Maester stepped inside. He was handsome which Sansa thought was a shame that he was going to spend his entire life as a Maester. He would be better suited to a pretty knight that young ladies sighed at and songs were written about.

"Lady Sansa," the Maester looked at her with kind eyes. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I do not feel well," she frowned at him. "I thought my illness would subside as I moved further along in the pregnancy."

"Every pregnancy is different," the Maester informed her. "So I cannot be sure if that is true or not, what I do know is that you should get as much bed rest as possible."

"Bed rest," Sansa took a deep breath. "Of course," she stroked her stomach. "I do hope that it will not be a difficult birth, Maester."

"You are quite big," the Maester pursed his lips as he gazed down at her stomach. "Perhaps I estimated the time of your conception wrong." He frowned, "Do you often copulate with Lord Tyrion, Lady Sansa?"

Whilst Sansa was no maiden any longer her cheeks still coloured bright pink. It still embarrassed her, especially with the way the Maester seemed so intent on her abdomen and so curious. She could not lie however, it was often that she and Tyrion had… _copulated._ Sansa straightened on the chair, rubbing her stomach and looking at the Maester who suddenly turned his back to her. Sansa did think her stomach was rather large, her mother had always been small from what she remembered.

"Hm," the Maester appeared puzzled. "Unless you are having two children as it is very prevalent in the Lannister family." He pressed his hands together, "Then I would recommend bed rest as birthing multiple children can be quite difficult and taxing on a woman. It can also lead to death," Sansa's eyes widened. "But I believe you are healthy enough that a multiple birth will not result in your death."

"Thank you, Maester," Sansa pressed her lips together. "That will be all," she then waved him off with her hand.

Moving to her desk, Sansa decided to pen her mother a letter. She pulled out some parchment and wondered what she would say to the woman who was slowly losing her mind in her request for revenge. She was not entirely crazed, not in the way the Mad King had once been. Instead Lady Catelyn was more so controlling of her children and frustrated when they would not listen to her – Sansa who refused to annul her marriage to Tyrion and Robb because he was gallivanting the coast as a pirate rather than taking back the North.

 _Dear Mother,_

 _I debated writing this letter to you as I am unsure of your reaction. I know your opinion of my husband and my marriage, but I feel I must tell you as you are my Mother. I am with child and the Maester believes I am in my fifth moon, that means that soon I will give birth. I write to tell you as I do believe that you would wish to be there for the birth of your first grandchild, even though you may not like your goodson I would love for my mother to be there in that time._

 _I urge you to consider the proposition, to be with your daughter as she gives birth. Please, I will request that Lord Tyrion does nothing to bother you in the time you are with us. What say you, Mother? Will you take this gift? I sure hope so as I would love to see Rickon as well, I would love to see the man my youngest brother is becoming. Please, Mother, please consider coming. It is not yet known of my pregnancy and I wish to keep it that way._

 _Love,  
Sansa Stark_


	7. VII

**Here we are, finally, the wedding. Well, enjoy, I really don't have much to say.**

* * *

 **VII**

 **ROBB**

 **MARRIAGE** had been an expectation since birth, for Robb Stark. He was to marry a woman of high birth, someone to help him control Winterfell after his father passed on. There had never been much discussion of what type of woman, whether she'd be a hard woman from the North or a soft Southern lady like his mother. A Dothraki warrior had not been a woman ever considered, as they were so far removed from the North and Westeros that never had they crossed his mind. But there he was, standing in front of mirrored glass.

No one had told him what to wear, but he did not expect the finery of a Southern wedding. He was told to expect entertainment and a feast, some of the Dothraki men had gone out of their way to congratulate him in accented Common Tongue and hoped he would be pleased. Robb pushed a finger through his auburn curls that had darkened with age, they hung just below his collar bone and bounced back up when they were tugged down. Robb's blue eyes studied himself and he bent, pulling his long, leather coat around his shoulders – it was his finest piece of clothing.

Exiting his room, he peered over at Dacey who wore a dress. Dacey was the type of woman who appeared comfortable in armour or dress, neither bothered her as it had Arya. Her hair was left loose and she still wore a sword strapped to her belt that hung around her waist. Beside her Smalljon was dressed nicely, or as nice as he could be. His hair was combed and his beard shaven which was rather amusing to Robb as his friend had vowed to never shave. Robb touched his own smooth skin that he had not shaved for a long while either.

"Your Grace," Dacey straightened her shoulders back.

"I told you to call me Robb," he smiled at her. "You look lovely, Dacey."

"Thank you," she nodded her head toward him.

"Och," Smalljon clicked his tongue together, moving to slap his large hand on Robb's shoulders. "Ye clean up well lad."

"Now you sound very much like your father," Robb snickered. "I'm surprised to see you have a face under all that beard."

"Dacey got to me," Smalljon grunted, rubbing his jaw roughly with the back of his hand.

"If he had his way he'd go to the wedding scruffy," was all Dacey said.

"And you're pretending the bloody Dothraki aren't going to go scruffy!" Smalljon threw his hands in the air, "Father out right refused to shave. They're going to think we're a bunch of bloody cunts."

Dacey suddenly elbowed Smalljon in the stomach and he doubled over. "Come now, Robb, it is time for your wedding."

"Hm," he pursed his lips. "I wish I could see my Mother raging by the time she receives my letter."

"I'm sure it would be most entertaining," Dacey agreed. "But we do not want to be late, insulting our hosts and your new wife."

"Good idea," Robb rolled back his shoulders. "I guess we should be going then."

The ceremony was to take place in the city centre for the people of Meereen to gaze upon the foreign King. Many were invited, Robb was a little surprised Queen Daenerys held it open for so many. But she said that she would not deny her people the right to witness a wedding, something she believed was a happy day. Robb assumed it was because she had found so much happiness with her husband, the Khal Drogo who was a mountain of silent support behind her at all times.

Robb and his entourage walked through the streets, the crowds staring at him curiously as he passed. Robb did not feel nervous, though he should have as he made his way to the city centre. Dacey and Smalljon flanked him, Arya and Greatjon were already at the centre and they had been for a while. Robb turned the last corner and was surprised at the great scene before him. It was early in the morning and two men already seemed to be fighting, another man was taking a woman against the hard ground.

"King Robb," he turned his head as he made his way toward the centre. Most watched him and Queen Daenerys as she stepped off her podium. "You will join us," she motioned to two seats that sat empty. "You will sit with us."

"Thank you," Robb made his way up the steps.

"You are welcome," she smiled at him warmly and he noticed how her husband watched her. "You will enjoy this wedding, it is nothing you have ever seen."

For that Robb was sure as he sat down slowly, his eyes flickered toward his sister who he could see standing beside Greatjon at the end of the podium. Half of Arya's hair was tied back and she wore breeches and a tunic, sword at her belt. Some Dothraki men appraised her but she seemed to straighten her shoulders, holding her sword handle as if trying to threaten them off. Greatjon was her protector also and Dacey and Smalljon the same as they joined the two of them at the end of the podium.

"The men fight," Queen Daenerys explained as she noticed him watching two men. "They fuck and they feast." She said it so casually, "A Dothraki wedding is considered a dull affair without three deaths."

Robb watched as a man was cut down where he stood, blood squirting out of his chest and the crowd cheering. "Is it a good omen?" Robb asked suddenly, "For deaths at a wedding?"

"I am unsure," she appeared puzzled. "I believe it is just the concept of a good time to the Dothraki."

"Ah," Robb nodded his head, rubbing his hands on his thighs. "Will there be vows?"

"No," Queen Daenerys shook her head. "You will both be given gifts and when the sun is down you will consummate your marriage."

"Ah," Robb attempted to understand.

But their customs were so foreign, so removed from what Robb had known his entire life. When he returned to Winterfell he would marry his wife traditionally, before the Old Gods. There was no doubt in his mind, however, that he would also need to marry his wife in the Sept for his mother. Robb's eyes studied the people who danced, fucked and fought before he looked up. It was his wife, coming to him dressed in a burnt orange garb, some of it was translucent as it blew, caught in the wind.

Her dark brown hair was left loose, blowing in the wind. There was dark kohl that lined her eyes. She made her way to the podium, nodding at Queen Daenerys and Khal Drogo. She then turned to him, making her way up the steps and Robb stepped back, legs hitting the edge of his chair and he only sat when she did. Robb watched as Dacey was suddenly tugged at by one of the Dothraki men. She was led to the group that were in the middle and she danced, in the strange movements of the Dothraki which were foreign to Robb.

"Here," he heard someone grunt and he turned his head. Khal Drogo was standing near him and Robb looked down at the goblet he was holding. "You will drink this."

"Thank you," Robb took the goblet, sipping it and pulling a face. It was strong, a lot stronger than what he was used to.

Another man was suddenly stabbed through the neck by Dacey who sneered at him and then another man. Robb leaned forward and felt someone place a hand on his arm, he turned and looked down at the dark, slim fingers that sat on top his leather coat. His eyes travelled up the arm to meet his wife's eyes, she shook her head at him and he settled back in his seat, drinking the ale Khal Drogo had given him. Zhalli removed her hand from his arm and Robb watched as the first of the bride gifts were held by the Dothraki who made their way up the stairs.

A whip was held out by two men, they offered it to Zhalli who leaned forward and said something in Dothraki. Robb watched as the men suddenly turned to him, holding out the whip even further. He was hesitant, looking to his wife who suddenly nodded at him and he leaned forward. Wrapping his hands around the whip, he pulled it toward him, placing it beside him. The two men then moved down the stairs, turning their back to him.

"Good," he heard Zhalli say. "They will offer the gifts to me and I will reject them, they will then offer them to you."

"Right," Robb nodded his head.

"The woman you brought with you," Zhalli leaned forward. "The one who killed the man. She is fierce, is she your lover?"

"Dacey?" Robb snorted, "No, definitely not."

"Oh," she appeared not to understand. "Why not? She is lovely."

"Dacey deserves more than being the mistress of a King," he shrugged his shoulders. "And we always knew one day I would have a duty to marry for an allegiance. And Dacey was never an option, whilst she is a beautiful woman I do not think I would be enough for her."

"Hm," Zhalli hummed under her breath.

"Do you have a lover?" Robb asked her suddenly.

"No," she frowned, "I come to you pure." She shifted, "There was no lover."

"Right," Robb watched as Dacey began to dance with another man. "I think you'll get along with Dacey, I don't know about my sister Arya. But I can never tell, we have not seen each other in a very long time."

Zhalli studied him, "Why?"

"Because I left and so did she," he rubbed his hands together. "Our family… we all left our home. There are no Starks left in Winterfell."

"What is Winterfell?"

"My home," Robb sipped the strong ale Khal Drogo had given him. "Thank you," he suddenly said. "You agreed to marry me and I appreciate it, without Queen Daenerys and her dragons I believe it will be difficult to take back the North."

"You also agreed to marry me," Zhalli looked over at something and Robb followed her gaze. It was the large man that had skin a shade or two darker than his but still paler than Zhalli's warm, light brown skin. "It is my father who is unhappy with this match."

"Why?" Robb asked, "I heard he was not born a Dothraki as well."

"Yes," Zhalli looked down at her hands. "But my Father is a man of great pride and he believes in the Dothraki. He wanted me to marry a bloodrider, to stay close to our people."

"He is protective of his only child," Robb found himself looking at Zhalli, truly looking at her.

Her face was small with a pointed chin but her cheekbones were not prominent, which probably had something to do with her age. But she was no child and had she been nobility in Westeros she would already be married quite a few years. Her eyes were wide and round, framed with long, thick lashes and the colour of burnt leaves after summer ended and before winter truly began. Her hair was long and curly, left loose to fall to the middle of her back, it was also a deep brown colour, almost black if not for the way the sun hit it.

More men made their way to the podium, there were two again and in their hands they carried a large bow. They looked at each other before presenting the gift to Zhalli. Once again they spoke in unfamiliar words and Zhalli nodded at them, before holding out her hand and the men turned to Robb. They held out the bow even further and Robb reached out to take it, nodding at them as he wrapped his hands around the wood and the men turned to step off the podium.

"You are doing well," Zhalli complimented. "There is only one more gift you shall receive."

The sun was high in the sky and Robb was a little drunk, the ale was strong and he'd only had three glasses. Greatjon was laughing and boasting with a few of the Dothraki men, showing off his sword. Smalljon was already flirting with a few of the Dothraki women who watched him with awe and Dacey had managed to kill another man. No one seemed to stop her, they all seemed quite impressed with her skill. Arya still stood off to the side, watching them all suspiciously.

"Khal Robb," he blinked as two women stood before him, offering a platter of food.

"Thank you," he smiled at them, a lopsided grin that had the two of them giggling.

Zhalli leaned forward, "It is for both of us." She motioned to a table that was set before them, "They want us to feast well so we have energy for consummating our marriage later tonight."

"Ah," Robb nodded his head. "Would you like to hear more traditions of my people?"

"Yes," Zhalli had delight in her brown eyes as he looked down at her.

"Well," Robb compared a marriage in Westeros to one in the Dothraki. "Once we were wed we would have a feast much like this one but there would be no death, there would be more music and dancing."

"Why no death?"

"It's not the respectable thing to do in Westeros," Robb shrugged his shoulders. "And you would violate the guest right by killing your host. And that would not go over well, there would be too many deaths. I hardly think the bride and groom would survive."

"Oh," Zhalli pulled some meat toward her and chewed on it.

"After we were married it would be time for the bedding, someone would announce it," Robb pressed his lips together. "And we would be separated from each other."

"Separated," Zhalli frowned up at him. "Then how would we consummate the marriage?"

"I would be taken by young women and stripped of my clothing," he then studied her. "And men would do that to you. And then we would be placed together in a room. Some would watch or they would be sent out, I would send them out."

"Strange," Zhalli then paused. "Yet we do not mind when we have an audience." She motioned to a woman and man not too far from them that were rutting like beasts.

"I see that," Robb pressed his lips together. "Yet I would not like an audience."

"Oh," Zhalli sucked her cheeks in. "What does that mean?"

"I would request we go somewhere private," he then fanned himself.

"That is strange," Zhalli leaned forward to eat some more food. "Are you hungry?" She then offered him a strange fruit he had never seen before, "It is very good food."

"Thank you," Robb took the fruit from her and bit into the sticky sweetness.

It dribbled down his chin and he used the back of his hand to wipe it up. The fruit was nice, unlike anything he had tried before and quickly he finished it. Zhalli smiled at him appreciatively, and Robb felt that he was off to a good start with his new wife. His mother would not like her and he suspected a lot of people would have problems with his wife being a _savage beast_ from Essos. But Robb liked her even if she was strange, well, her customs were strange.

"It's good," he then agreed.

"I know," Zhalli smiled. "It is from the Summer Isles."

"You know about geography?"

"Not really," she shrugged her shoulders. "One of the Khaleesi's people told me when they brought the food."

"Ah," Robb nodded his head slowly. "Do you like sweet things?"

"Yes," Zhalli admitted. "Most of my life we had food that was gifted to us by the Great Stallion. Now we are in Meereen our food is much different. Father doesn't like it, he says we will get fat and round like the old Masters and not be able to do much."

"Our old King was fat," Robb admitted. "He was Father's old friend and my Father once said he was a great warrior and a great man. But I did not see that when I laid eyes on him. All I saw was a fat, whoring man."

"How strange," Zhalli pushed her curls back from her face. "A King is a Khal, correct?"

"Yes…" Robb shrugged his shoulders. "A King is a leader and so is a Khal."

"I am to be a Khaleesi," Zhalli looked pleased by the fact. "You have large land and many people that follow you?"

"The North is large," Robb decided to tell her all about it. "But it's a cold and harsh land, it's the largest in Westeros but I would not say it is the most populated." He shrugged his shoulders, "Not many people can handle the cold, and it is very cold. It is why the words of my house is _Winter is Coming_ because we know of the cold and we can survive it." He then looked sympathetically at Zhalli and was surprised at the look of wonder on her face, "I don't think you'll be able to handle it."

"I can handle anything," Zhalli suddenly straightened herself, puffing out her chest.

Robb found her amusing, "I am sure you can." He didn't want to be patronising but he was sure she would grow to resent being married to him. "So when is the next gift that will be given?"

"I am not sure," Zhalli suddenly studied the crowd of people. "Perhaps when we have finished eating," she then looked up at the sun in the sky. "It is still early in the afternoon, there is a long time until the bedding yet. But perhaps you should stop drinking, you have a duty to perform."

Zhalli wouldn't have been the first to tell him that he had a duty, it was something he had heard from his father, mother and everyone else after them. Duty, everything was a duty when you were born the heir to the throne or a large seat in nobility. Robb combed his fingers through his thick, auburn curls and watched as two women danced, drums beating loudly as the two of them moved. Dothraki culture was fascinating, unlike anything he had ever experienced before in his life.

"Look," Zhalli pointed at his sister. "She has killed a man. They are impressed and they are impressed by Dacey. Some men might come to you and ask if they can marry one of them."

Robb blinked slowly, "Uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck, "That would be their decision if they want to entertain the men."

"Oh," Zhalli leaned backward. "So you would not force them to marry?"

"No," Robb shook his head. "Not Dacey because she's not family, she's one of my council members and one of my soldiers. I trust her and I would not want to break that trust by forcing her to marry someone." He then glanced over at his sister, "And I think Arya would sooner stick a sword through me than marry someone, especially if I forced her."

Zhalli looked up at him in wonder, a smile on her face and Robb shifted uncomfortably. It was good that their marriage was getting off to a better start than he thought it would. She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him and his culture which was a good thing. Robb imagined having to wed a proper lady, most of the time they would be too nervous to even look at him. He imagined marrying a Frey girl and found that he got a better deal with Queen Daenerys.

"It is getting late," Zhalli looked up at the sky suddenly. "Our last gift will be given and then we will consummate the marriage."

Robb did look at the sky, the sun that was beginning to disappear behind the great pyramid structure that had become Queen Daenerys's palace. He rubbed his hands on his thighs and looked down at the Dothraki people, two women seemed to be kissing which was something he thought was kept to brothels. Shaking his head, he turned to look at Zhalli who had leaned forward and was finishing off the plate of food they had been given.

She was very beautiful, long, delicate fingers and skin a warm, light brown. Very, very beautiful in a way so foreign to Westeros that he thought a lot of men would compliment him on his choice of bride. Robb pushed his thick, brown-red curls from his brow but they only managed to fall back again. He should've tied his hair back but he had not thought it through. Leaning back in his seat, he turned his head to look over at Khal Drogo and Queen Daenerys who sat closer now, the two of them gazing up at one another with love.

"They come," Zhalli distracted him.

Robb turned and two more men came, this time with a curved blade. Robb was struck by the beauty of the sword. He breathed in deeply as the two men came toward him but turned immediately to Zhalli as others had done before. They spoke deeply in a language that Robb assumed was Dothraki and Zhalli answered. They stopped talking and the two men turned to Robb, holding the curved sword out to him. How would he wield such a fine blade?

One hand clasped around the wrapped hilt of the blade and Robb licked his lips. Before he could thank the two of them the men suddenly turned and stepped off the podium. Robb ran his hand over the steal of the blade, pressing his lips together before turning to place the blade beside his other gifts. He then turned to Zhalli who straightened her shoulders and pulled her face together. Robb closed his eyes briefly before meeting the eyes of a person over her head.

Ifakko, her father, was a tall, bearded man with a long braid and many beads sewn into his braid. His eyes were a strange, steel, grey that were stark against his light brown skin. He glowered at Robb and there was a clear message that if Robb was to hurt Zhalli he would taste blood. Robb was not nervous, as he would have been had it been a decade earlier. He was a man grown, he had lived a life on the high seas and had faced worse foes than his dangerous goodfather who very well was dangerous – Robb had seen him fighting.

"The sun is down," Zhalli stood suddenly and turned to him. "We must go."

"Right," Robb stood up.

Their arms brushed against each other but they did not hold hands. Many stopped to watch as the two of them moved to the edge of the celebrations. Zhalli suddenly turned to him, "Will you take me here?"

Robb blinked down at her before looking around at the prying eyes, "No." He suddenly placed a large, pale hand on her brown arm. There was a difference in their skin tone, "We'll go somewhere more private."

"Private?" She echoed.

It was a long walk to Robb's chambers in the great pyramid palace. But there was no way he was going to take his new bride out in the open like some sort of animal. He then blanched, her people were used to such a custom but he was not. Robb liked to fuck but he also liked a soft bed and wine. He liked to woo the women he was going to bed. But this woman was his wife and had customs that were so far removed from what Robb knew that he wanted to make her feel comfortable, to introduce her to his own customs.

To make her comfortable.

The room Robb had been provided with was grand but not half as large as chambers he was used to. There was a large bed that was low to the ground with four posters, pressed against the wall opposite the doors that opened. It was covered in thin, golden fabric fit for a King. There was a rug beside the bed and a chaise lounge near a hole in the wall suitable for a fire. There was a large window that overlooked Meereen, billowing curtains that touched the floor and were almost sheer.

"A bed," Zhalli blinked at him. "Only recently I have come to sleeping in a bed. I still prefer furs."

"This will be more comfortable," Robb explained.

"Oh," Zhalli then reached up to her neck.

Her dress loosened and Robb reacted, "Wait." But he was too late as her dress fell to the ground, revealing her nude body.

"What is it?" Zhalli blinked up at him, unashamed of her nakedness. Inappropriately, Robb was reminded of the confidence of whores he had been with. Which was not a nice thought when it was his wife standing in front of him, with a different confidence.

"Never mind," he muttered and pulled off his coat. He let it fall to the floor and then yanked off his tunic. His chest was scattered with scars and there was a little hair on the top of his chest. A necklace hung from his neck, fashioned with a wolf and a trout almost chasing each other and held together by a thick, black band.

Keeping his trousers on, he did kick off his boots and his thick, woollen socks. Robb then looked down at his wife and found himself looking at her body. He was appreciative, her breasts were not too large but was enough that he was satisfied. Her skin was a warm brown all over and she was lean, though her hips flared out in a round curve. Robb took a deep breath, he could not be rough with her though it was what she might expect if she thought he'd mount her like a stallion.

"Come," he then held out his hand and she blinked at him.

"What?" She blinked up at him with big eyes.

"Come," she then placed her hand in his and he tugged her toward the bed.

He sat down on the end of it and looked at the place beside him, slowly she lowered herself to the bed and Robb reached out. His hand cupped her cheek, so pale compared to the lovely colour that was her skin. She blinked at him slowly, large lashes framing her eyes as she looked up at him. Robb leaned forward, they were yet to kiss and he wondered if she had ever kissed anyone before. He got his answer as his lips pressed against her lips and she pulled back, blinking up at him in surprise.

"What is that?" She demanded.

"Kissing," Robb answered, "It is what a man does to his wife in my culture."

"Oh," she paused. "I have seen the Khal and Khaleesi do it. I have seen others." She studied him, "But you are supposed to mount me."

"No," he then leaned forward to press a kiss against her cheek bone. "We married in your customs and we will bed in my customs."

"And what are your customs?" She lifted her chin, challenging him.

"I will teach you," Robb then leaned forward, brushing his lips against the corner of his mouth.

"So you will not mount me?"

"I will in another way."

"Oh."

Robb's lips brushed Zhalli's and it was painfully awkward as she was hesitant in copying the movements of his lips. But Robb noticed she was a quick learner as their lips brushed together, softly and she straightened as if to get closer to her. Their kisses grew into more, into something frantic. Robb's hands came to cup the side of her head as he leaned over her, Zhalli panting as he pulled away from her suddenly. She gazed up at him in wonder and Robb leaned forward again, kissing her and burying his hands in her thick curls.

Soon they were laying down on the soft bed, still only kissing but the sky was darkening even further. Soon Zhalli lay beneath Robb, gazing up at him and his hands ran up her sides. They gazed into each other's eyes, still trying to work each other out with soft touches and wandering gazes. But they were still foreign to one another, something a marriage could not fix though many hoped it would. Robb reached out, cupping the side of her face lightly and she breathed in deeply, chest expanding as Robb leaned down to kiss again.

What could have been a very rushed consummation became a slow seduction. Something Robb was familiar with as he had been with many different women over the course of his life on the seas. Robb's touches seemed to have Zhalli gasping for breath, staring up at him in wonder whenever he did something she did not expect. Robb smiled down at her, he liked the way she moved against him and the way she looked at him for guidance of what to do next. Soon it was off with his trousers and the two of them were together, holding to each other tightly.

In the aftermath of their consummation, Zhalli rested on his chest and stared out at the night sky. Robb was looking up at the ceiling, blinking slowly as his fingers ran up and down her spine. He'd had better, there were more practiced whores but Zhalli was his wife and he could not tell her that. Instead Robb would teach her, if they were going to have any sort of marriage he was not going to keep from the marriage bed. He would not stray, he would not dishonour her like his father had dishonoured his mother.

Robb, as he blinked slowly, realised a wife was much more responsibility than he had intended.


	8. VIII

**So I _thought_ I updated last week but I didn't so sorry about that. Also I apologise for Catelyn lovers because you're probably going to be angry about her character in this chapter but for the purpose of this story she is this way.**

 **Anyway enjoy the chapter, I hope you somewhat like it.**

 **Thank you for all the favourites, reviews, follows xx**

* * *

 **VIII**

 **CATELYN**

 **ENRAGED,** Lady Catelyn Stark tore her daughter's letter in half and stood. A fire crackled in the room she was residing in and she dropped the letter into the flames, and then rested her elbow against the stone wall. Hanging her head, she stared into the flames as the parchment began to curl and disappear into the flames. Catelyn Stark's lips pressed together tightly, she was angered with her children who no longer listened to her any longer. What did she have to do to demand they listen to her? She had even lost control over Rickon but she doubted she ever had control of him.

"Catelyn," she straightened and turned her head, smiling as her brother poked his head around the door.

"Edmure," she moved toward him. "How do you do?"

"Well," Edmure rubbed the back of his neck. "I came to check on you, I heard you received a letter from Sansa."

"I did," Catelyn scowled. "I am angered with my children."

"What did Sansa say this time?" Edmure was curious as he made his way across the room, placing his hands on the back of one of the chairs that surrounded a small, round table.

"She will not allow the annulment," Catelyn shook her head. "I do not understand." Catelyn then placed her hands on her hips, "And now she is with child. I am… irritated, to say the least."

"Ah," Edmure nodded his head slowly.

"How is Roslin?" Catelyn decided to change the subject and turned to the new Lord of Riverrun.

The Starks had an alliance with Lord Walder Frey to get them passed the Neck. However, the army had not gone passed the Neck as Robb had instead taken to the sea. But still, Lady Catelyn had kept correspondence with Lord Walder open as she had not wanted to insult them. That had also led to Edmure coming with her to protect her, suspicious of the Freys though they were his bannerman. Edmure, who had become regent for their father who was bedridden at the time, had fallen in love with one of Lord Walder Frey's daughters, Lady Roslin Frey.

"Well," Edmure adored his wife and seemed very proud. "She is with child again."

"Ah," Catelyn adored the idea of a new children. "Congratulations."

Lady Roslin had been a small, skinny girl when Catelyn had first been introduced to her. Catelyn did not think the girl would ever be able to bear her brother healthy children, but Lady Catelyn had been wrong. Much like Catelyn, over the course of her marriage to Edmure, Lady Roslin had given birth to four healthy children and had never miscarried. She had also grown into her body, becoming plump and there was always a glow to her, and her cheeks often flushed healthily. Lady Catelyn adored her goodsister and her nieces and nephews.

"Thank you," Lord Edmure then studied her sister. "Are you not happy for the prospect of a new grandchild?"

"My first," Catelyn lowered her eyes to the ground.

"Then you should be pleased," Lord Edmure pressed his lips together. "Lord Tyrion has always offered us support, angering the Crown and his family. He cannot be all bad. And think, the Lannisters are the richest house in Westeros and Sansa is Lady of Casterly Rock."

Catelyn furrowed her brows, "I do not like it… he is the _Imp_."

"Catelyn," Edmure glowered at his sister. "That is not fair. You cannot hold how he was born against him, he seems like a pleasant, intelligent little man and I do think that Sansa gets along with him – from what I have read from her letters."

"He is not what I would have chosen for my daughter."

"And I am sure he is not the man she wished for," Lord Edmure clicked his tongue. "We should both head downstairs, Lysa will be arriving soon."

Lady Lysa Arryn was Lady Catelyn's younger sister and Lord Edmure's older sister. She had been married to Lord Jon Arryn at a similar time Catelyn had been married to Lord Eddard Stark, to support the rebellion and make their forces stronger. Lord Jon Arryn had died, poisoned most likely but no one had known the culprit though it was suspected to be the Lannisters. Lysa remained remote from them with her son, Robert Arryn, they had stayed in the Vale and had not left for anything. Robert was older now, her was a young man of one and twenty.

Like Rickon, he was apparently uncontrollable and liked fighting. He no longer listened to his mother and was ruling over the Vale with an iron fist, Sweetrobin was sweet no longer. Catelyn was curious, she wanted to meet her sister who she had always been worried about and her nephew. If he was as difficult as Rickon was, she would be able to identify and sympathise with her sister. Following Edmure out of her chambers and down the stairs, she noticed her son standing off to the side.

Lord Rickon Stark was her tallest son Catelyn suspected. As a child Rickon had the looks of a Tully but with the wild life he had been living and as he aged he took on features of the Starks. He was tall and his once red curls had darkened to a deep brown, only red in the sunlight. His eyes also appeared grey, rather than blue. He also had grown in strength, Catelyn was reminded of Brandon Stark, her husband's older brother, whenever she looked at Rickon who seemed to have developed the same careless, cheeky attitude her first betrothed had.

"There they are," Edmure murmured quietly and Catelyn tore her eyes from her son and looked to the opened doors of the keep.

A tall man strode through the keep and came to a stop in front of them. He wore thick armour with the sigil of House Arryn on his armour. He had brown hair that was loose over his shoulders and appeared a mess. His eyes were bright blue and Catelyn gathered he had to be Robert 'Sweetrobin' Arryn. Behind him was a round woman with greying auburn hair, she looked tired and much older than Catelyn. It was clear that it was Lysa Arryn however, but she looked much older than her four and forty years – looking older than her older sister.

"Lord Edmure," Catelyn tore her eyes from her sister to Robert Arryn. He nodded, "Uncle."

"Nephew," Lord Edmure stepped forward and held out his hand. "It is good to meet you."

Robert Arryn ignored the offered hand and instead studied his family, blue eyes narrowed and she could see the scrutiny on his face. He then turned as Lysa came to stand beside him, looking more tired than ever. Catelyn felt sad for her sister and went to step forward, only Edmure held out his hand and stopped her from moving. Instead Edmure looked down at Lysa, studying her face and taking in every line, every crevice of her face that had aged. Lysa looked much older than she should, her body plump and there was a heavy sadness in her eyes Catelyn did not understand.

"Sister," Edmure licked his lips. "It is good to see you."

"You too," Lysa's voice was barely above a whisper. "Would you mind showing me to my chambers?"

"Of course not," Edmure then turned to look at Roslin. "Would you mind showing Lady Arryn to her chambers?"

"No," Roslin then smiled. "Come, Lady Arryn."

Catelyn went to follow them but Edmure shook his head, "No, Cat, I need you here for this."

"For what?" Catelyn's voice rose sharply.

"Lord Robert Arryn," Edmure's voice was clipped. "The years have done you well and I hear of your success in the Vale, especially among the Mountain Clans."

"Yes," Robert's voice was gruff, a deep voice that should've belonged to a battle-hardened man.

"Then I congratulate you," Edmure smiled tightly. "It is good to finally meet my nephew."

"It is good to meet you, Uncle," Robert then looked at Catelyn. "Lady Catelyn, it is good to see you again."

"Lord Robert," Catelyn then noticed Rickon inching further toward them. "This is your cousin, Lord Rickon Stark, my youngest."

"I hear your eldest daughter is married to a Lannister," Lord Robert sounded disapproving. "I was angered at this news."

"As do I," Catelyn sniffed. "When King Robb returns he will annul the marriage."

"We can only hope," Lord Robert was studying Rickon who was taller and broader than he was. "We do not wish to remain connected to scum like that." His voice showed his anger and his distaste.

Both Catelyn and Edmure shared wary looks, "Right, well." Edmure then clenched his jaw, "Would you like to be taken to your chambers, to freshen up?"

"No," Lord Robert shook his head. "I would like to train."

"Of course then," Lord Edmure then looked down at Catelyn. "Rickon and I will show him to the training yard, you may speak with Lysa now."

"I do not know what to do with him, Cat," Lysa sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "He is not my Sweetrobin, I do not know what got into him."

"He has come into his own," Catelyn smiled at her sister. "You should be proud of him."

"But he does not _need_ me anymore!" Lysa wailed.

Catelyn looked over at Lady Roslin who suddenly ducked her head, continuing to allow the servants to pour the wine into the goblets. Catelyn sighed, she had no idea how to explain to her sister the issue. Lysa looked broken, her round face becoming as red as her hair and her blue eyes filled with tears. Snot hung from her nose, it was not a pretty sight but she believed her sister had not been a pretty sight since she had married Lord Jon Arryn and been forced to live in the viper's nest that was King's Landing. Her sister had been too soft for that life, their father should have known.

"Lysa," Catelyn soothed, "There comes a time in a son's life that he does not need his mother any longer. He does not need to be so close to her."

"But I wish he was!" Lysa shook her head, "I wish he relied on me again."

"Lysa," Catelyn reached out to place her hand on her sister's. "You must be grateful that your son has become so strong and filled in his father's position when no one thought he would."

"What do you mean?" Lysa suddenly demanded, glowering at her sister. "What did you say about my son?"

"It is just that…" Catelyn knew her sister would fly into a rage but could not contain herself. "Robert was such a sickly child that many did not think he would live long enough to become a ruler, much less be a good one."

"How dare you!" Lysa suddenly stood, pounding her fist on the table. "Just because your children have been so _perfect!_ " Lysa then scowled, "But have they? When your daughter has married a traitor, two of them you are unsure are alive and the other left his ancestral seat to become a _pirate!_ "

"Lysa!" Catelyn stood, much taller than her sister.

"What!?" Lysa was enraged, no tears now instead there was anger. "You have always been the better sister! Does it give you some sick pleasure to tear me down like this!?"

"Ladies please," Roslin's soft voice suddenly cut between the two of them and she wedged herself between them. "Lady Lysa, would you like to greet Edmund and I's children?"

"No," Lysa suddenly spat at Roslin. The soft woman suddenly stepped back, shocked at the anger on Lysa's face. "I wish to be left alone, I suspect you'll both see yourselves out of my chambers."

"Of course," Roslin turned and began to leave.

Catelyn glared at her sister, "I never wished to compare ourselves or our children Lysa. I only wished to offer you comfort."

"I have always wanted to tell you that you are much too selfish to comfort me, Cat," Lysa's voice was shaking with anger but she turned to head to her bed rather than continue to fight.

Lady Catelyn Stark pressed her lips together, the argument with her sister had been unpleasant but perhaps it had been something that had needed to happen. Catelyn straightened her shoulders, storming passed a shaking Roslin Tully and heading down the steps. A _woman's_ place, oh how she had grown to loathe such a thing since she had come South. In the North she could do as she pleased, Eddard had trusted her inexplicably. Now she found it difficult, as her brother was an oaf sometimes.

Riverrun was a large, grand keep that Lady Catelyn had always sworn nothing could be grander. And she had been right, Winterfell had been a much smaller keep but it had been warmer. It was filled with traditions and love, whilst Riverrun had the same thing it was not quite the same. Lady Catelyn ran her fingers along the stone walls as she made her way down the steps, rounding the corner and pausing as she noticed Edmure, Rickon and Lord Robert all laughing together, as if they were old friends.

"What is going on here?" Lady Catelyn's sharp voice demanded and all of the men turned to face her.

"Nothing Mother," Rickon moved from the group to come to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Uncle was just regaling his days of wenching to us, before he met Aunt Roslin of course." He grinned cheekily, "And Cousin Robert was telling us of the awful women he had been forced to meet with."

"It's true, Cat," Edmure stepped forward. "Robert came here to show his support for his family and he was hoping you and Roslin would be able to find him a suitable betrothed."

How exciting, that would surely lift her mood. Lady Catelyn would be able to select a wife for her nephew and this time a child would listen to her urgings about a match. Robb still proceeded to ignore her and travel around Essos and Westeros, causing trouble for the Bastard King. And Sansa was constantly dodging her urgings to come to Riverrun, to leave the Lannister behind and join them. Now her daughter was pregnant, at least she was sure that Robert would listen to her.

"Is that so?" Catelyn smiled at her nephew, "Then I would be happy to discuss with you the daughters of our allies and a woman that would be most suited to you."

"Thank you, Aunt Catelyn," Robert stepped forward. "I knew that it would be better to trust your judgement of my bride rather than my mother." He sounded bitter toward the woman who raised him, "She would have me all to herself if she could."

Catelyn suspected it was true, Lysa had been so protective of him as a child. "Then we must sit down to discuss this," she studied him. "Would you like to do so immediately?"

"Mother," Rickon complained but was ignored as his mother and cousin began to walk off together.

"We have many allies," Catelyn explained as she sat down in her brother's solar and gazed down at the map of Westeros. "But we need more, we have the Vale, the Riverlands and the North behind us. What we don't have is the Westerlands, Stormlands, Crownlands and the Reach."

"And you propose I marry into a family from these places to gain more allies?" Robert asked as he sat down across from his aunt.

"Yes," Catelyn pursed her lips. "Yet we may not gain allies, they may be shunned and instead we may make your bride's family our enemies."

"And what would be the best choice?"

"To marry you to one of our allies' daughters," Catelyn then rubbed her temple. "We have many. I suspect you have already searched for a bride in the Vale?"

"Yes."

"Hm," Lady Catelyn stroked her chin. "That leaves the North and the Riverlands. I would not trust the North as Robb has let it be taken over by the Boltons," she clenched her hands into fists. "So we are limited to the Riverlands."

"And who would you recommend?"

"There is Lady Bethany Blackwood, she is of age with you and the daughter of one of our strongest allies, Lord Tytos Blackwood." She smiled affectionately, "I would send a letter to him, it is about time his daughter is married."

"And would her father agree to this marriage?"

"At the request of his King," Catelyn pressed her lips together. "I will send a letter to Robb; however, I cannot guarantee that it will get to him in time. I will also send a correspondence to Lord Tytos, see if he is willing to open talks of a marriage between you and his daughter."

"Thank you, Aunt Catelyn."

"You are most welcome," Catelyn liked having something to do. "If it fails we still have may other allies to choose from," she looked down at the map. "I can only hope that Lord Tytos Blackwood accepts a betrothal or at least comes to Riverrun with Lady Bethany so that you may meet." She then stood, "I suspect you will be wanting to get back to Rickon and Edmure, the two of them seem to enjoy your company."

"I will do that," Robert rose from his seat and left.

Staying in her seat, Catelyn pressed her fingers together and gazed down at the map. They still faced attacks from Lannister men in the South, East and West and the Bolton men in the North. Why did Robb have to be so stubborn? She clenched her hands into fists and gritted her teeth together. The longer he continued to be away the longer the war dragged on and the more their men would grow tired, eventually the Lannisters would win, and Catelyn dreaded to think what would happen to her when they did.

 _Lady Catelyn,_

 _I appreciate your invite to Riverrun and we accept. In the next sennight we should arrive in time to Riverrun, we look forward to seeing you and Lord Edmure._

 _Lord of Raventree Hall,_

 _Lord Tytos Blackwood_

Folding the letter, Catelyn smiled, pleased with herself and stood up from her seat. A sennight, that would not be too long and it meant that they would be leaving Raventree Hall the day the letter had been sent. Catelyn Stark placed the letter down on her desk, smoothed out her dress and decided to find her son Rickon, perhaps it was time she found him a bride. While it was pleasing to choose a bride for her nephew, it was not the same as one of her children.

"Catelyn," she turned her head slowly as she listened to her goodsister's voice. "My children wish to see you."

"Well," Catelyn smoothed down her dress, "I should greet them."

Roslin and Edmure Tully had four healthy babes, their eldest was a girl by the name of Minisa, after Catelyn and Edmure's mother. Their next child was a boy who went by the name Willem and his younger brother Brandon, Catelyn had risen a brow after Roslin had named the boy that. Their last child was another boy named Edmure after his father, a young, pudgy boy who could hardly crawl and already Roslin had another child in her womb. She adored children however, and she was happy for her brother and goodsister to be blessed with so many children.

"Aunt Cat," Minisa slipped off her seat and smiled up at her aunt. They were all being schooled by the Maester, Minisa a dutiful, intelligent girl. She had light brown hair that fell past her shoulders and she boasted her mother's soft features. All her brothers were born with red hair and looked very much like Tullys.

"Minisa," Catelyn smiled at the girl who straightened her shoulders back. "How are you my dear?"

"Well," Minisa nervously looked down at her hands. She was giving her aunt attention while her brothers were looking for a distraction from their studies. Willem was looking out the window, it was a terrible idea to have the school room overlooking the training grounds, and Brandon was picking his nose.

"Mother!" Brandon then grinned, pulling his finger from his nose and throwing himself at his mother's legs.

"Hello Brandon," Roslin smoothed her hair through the auburn strands. "Maester, how are their studies?"

"Lady Minisa is a wonderful student, as always," the girl preened, pink covering her pale cheeks. "Lord Willem wishes only to be out the window with the knights, playing at war," Willem's cheeks flushed. "And I cannot tear Lord Brandon away from his own mind for more than a moment. I would say it is going rather…"

"Not well," Roslin intercepted with a tight smile. "Of course not," she smiled at her children however and Catelyn was reminded of her own children. Her heart ached for her babes.

"Brandon," Willem shoved his younger brother lightly.

"What?" The boy sneered.

"Aunt Cat," Minisa tugged at her aunt's skirts lightly. "May I hear more stories of Lady Sansa?"

"Not today, sweet," Lady Catelyn touched the girl's hair lightly. "It is my hope that you will be able to meet your cousin."

"I would also like to meet them," Roslin smiled at her goodsister.

"Yes," Catelyn frowned. "Unfortunately, my children are being difficult at this time."

How did she admit to them why her children were being difficult? Robb did not want to face up to his reality, he was the King in the North and he needed to come back to Westeros. Sansa was still married to one of their enemies and with child, there was no chance of having the marriage annulled – the only way to fix that situation was to have Tyrion Lannister killed. And she had no idea where Arya was, she could be dead for all that Catelyn knew but she hoped that her daughter was fine. And then Bran was gone too, Rickon said he was North and would not be coming back for a long time – but would not tell her why.

"Lady Stark," she turned her head as Osha stood in the doorway.

Osha was someone Lady Catelyn never believed she could stand, a wildling woman who had lived beyond the wall. She was in debt to the woman who had protect Rickon for nine years before her son was finally returned to her two years ago. The woman had taught Rickon the way of the world, making him a strong warrior. She was thankful for the woman who had protected her sons. She excused herself from the room, Lady Roslin being left with her children who complained that their Aunt Cat was leaving.

"What is it?" Catelyn asked as she followed Osha down the hall.

"Rickon is not listening to me," Osha ignored Rickon's title and Catelyn pressed her lips together, displeased. "He has grown angered."

"At what?"

"I don't know," Osha shrugged her shoulders. "He received a letter but he will not tell us the contents."

"Take me to him," Catelyn demanded, hurrying further down the hall.

Loud crashes could be heard as Catelyn followed Osha to her son's chambers. She turned to Osha, eyes widened as she heard shouts and banging, crashing. She hurried forward, hand around the door handle as she opened it, pushing the door open. Something was thrown toward the door and she ducked, holding her hands up in front of her. Her eyes widened as she stared at her son who stared at her, his chest was heaving and his eyes were wild – his hair a mess.

"Rickon," Catelyn stepped forward, "What is wrong?"

"Mother," Rickon scowled at her, "It is nothing."

"It is not nothing," Catelyn glowered at her son. "You will tell me the problem, right now."

"Bran is not coming to Riverrun!" Rickon finally yelled, "He said he is _never_ coming to Riverrun."


	9. IX

**So I'm thinking maybe I should explain this chapter a bit cause this is one that I am most anxious about just because of the end. Just... it might seem soon that there would be someone sent, however who's to say Cersei doesn't have loyal people in Dany's court ready to strike at any moment?**

 **But I'm just real anxious about this chapter also because of Zhalli/Arya's reaction, that I'll explain much later and then her reaction with Robb. They were married because of an alliance and because Robb needs heirs - even though he has his brothers but he is MARRIED so he should be getting heirs from his wife.**

 **Anyway I'm worried about this chapter and reactions, you know? Anyway sorry for the late update again and thanks for sticking around and reading.**

* * *

 **IX**

 **ZHALLI**

 **"DAUGHTER,"** her eyes turned from the knife she was sharpening.

"Father," Ifakko stood over her, his shadow stopped the sun from reaching her.

"How are you?"

"Well."

Silence fell over them.

"And your husband?"

"Well," at least she thought he was. It had been a week since their marriage, they spent most nights together but they did not spend their days together. He focused on strategies with the Khaleesi and Zhalli spent her days as she usually had, training and spending time with her people. She would have a different life when she went to Westeros, one without her people.

Lowering her head, Zhalli continued to sharpen her sword and found comfort in the harsh sound of stone against metal. Ifakko continued to stand over his daughter, watching her. There had been no change in her, nothing noticeable and it was too soon to tell if she was with child. There was part of Zhalli that hoped she was not with child, she had only just married her husband who was considerably kind to her and she wanted to get to know him. Bringing a child into their marriage would further test them, in a way Zhalli was unprepared for.

"You have done me proud," Ifakko suddenly grunted, tearing his eyes away from his daughter as she looked up.

"Father," Zhalli rose slowly, letting the sword rest by her side and gripping the rock in her hands tighter.

"You have," he sniffed. "You married a man you deserved, of a high station. You have married a Khal."

"Will you come with us to Westeros?"

"Yes," he pressed his lips together. "But I may stay with the Khaleesi."

"I understand," Zhalli felt her heart expand with happiness and love for her father. "You make me happy, Father, with your approval."

"I am glad," Ifakko then looked over at the sparring Dothraki, "Now, I must leave."

Zhalli watched as her father turned, moving toward the men who did not stop sparring. Those who were not inclined their heads in respect toward the tall man with a long, brown ponytail. He was a force to be reckoned with, Zhalli thought as she watched her father step in line to speak to two younger men. Deciding to leave the training grounds, Zhalli headed immediately to the armoury where she would place her sword back and the sharpening tool. She was slow to move, especially when she saw her husband's sister.

Arya Stark was a formidable warrior, she noted and had heard others commenting one. She was light on her feet, well-practiced and the blade looked as though an extension of her arm. Crouched low, Arya watched the movement of the man in front of her who gripped his sword tightly and gritted his teeth. Arya remained calm as she gracefully glided out of the way of the man who swung his sword down, attempting to cut her down. Arya seemed unmoved, she danced around the man who grew frustrated quickly as he was unable to get a hit on her.

"She is a strong warrior," she heard one of the elders' comment, standing not too far from her.

"She would do well married to a Khal," another elder agreed.

Somehow Zhalli doubted that her husband would marry off his sister to a Khal, especially a Dothraki Khal. Turning, Zhalli headed inside the palace and made way to the armoury. Nodding at the Unsullied who guarded the armoury, she placed the sharpening tool down and then placed her sword with her father's belongings. But she turned and paused, noticing armours and weapons that had not been there before. Hesitantly, Zhalli made her way toward the weapons and the armour.

What caught her eye was a large sword, made of dark material that was almost taller than her, it appeared. Zhalli reached out to touch it, running her fingers down the dark steel as she gazed at her reflection. Looking up at the hilt, Zhalli wondered what it would be like to wield such a great sword but doubted she would have the strength to carry the weight. Hearing someone clear their throat, Zhalli pulled back her hand and turned around, facing her husband's sister.

"What are you doing?" The woman demanded, scowling at Zhalli and stepping forward. "Why are you touching my Father's sword?"

"I-I," Zhalli swallowed. "I had never seen these weapons before, I was curious."

Arya Stark sniffed. Her hair was matted, her face read and sweaty from her fight. "Right," she then shuffled forward to put her own sword down and her armour. "You should have Robb here."

"Why?"

"Because he'll tell you about Ice," she then nodded to the great sword. "He'd tell you the tale of our father, how great a man he was." Arya snorted, "As if he was a hero."

"And you disagree?"

"Yes," Arya Stark's nostrils flared. "I watched my father lose his head in front of me. He was not a hero and he was not brave. He was too honourable and that got him killed."

"Honour," Zhalli understood the concept, the word was strange in the Common Tongue.

"Yes," Arya nodded. "At least my brother didn't follow in his footsteps, from what I remember of Robb he would've gotten himself killed over his honour."

"And you have no honour?"

A sly smile came over Arya's face, "Any honour I ever had left me a long time ago."

Zhalli watched as the woman turned to leave the armoury and Zhalli felt strangely compelled to follow her, to ask her more questions. Zhalli pushed her fingers through her hair, gritting her teeth and growing more curious about her husband's family. They did not speak much at night, he had not mounted her after their wedding either. Zhalli would lay awake at night, her husband sleeping quietly beside her. They were distant from each other, not that Zhalli would expect them to grow close as they did not know each other but she wanted to know more of her husband.

Leaving the armoury herself, Zhalli headed through the palace. Zhalli wondered when they would be leaving to Westeros, she was curious and she had not heard much more about it. Pushing her fingers through her hair, Zhalli came to a stop when she noticed Vorsakko standing with his older brother Rhaego. Zhalli blinked and her mind turned to when she had seen the child place his hand in the fire. Everyone knew the Khaleesi was immune, so it would not have been surprising that her son had inherited something very similar to her.

"Queen Zhalli," she turned her head slowly, surprised at the title.

"Dacey Mormont?" Zhalli blinked up at the tall woman who leaned over her. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," Dacey shook her head, "But King Robb would like to see you."

"Yes," Zhalli then nodded. "Let's go. What does he need to see me about?"

"I don't know," Dacey admitted as the two women began walking away from Daenerys's children. "But he asked me to find you and bring him to you."

"Good," Zhalli then nodded and followed Dacey, Dacey's legs were long and her steps were quick. Zhalli almost needed to run to follow after her.

Khal Robb Stark and his people were inside their shared chambers, Zhalli followed Dacey and watched as Robb spoke to a man beside him. The man then nodded, making eye contact with Zhalli. His eyes widened and he suddenly lurched forward, bowing as Zhalli had seen other people do to the Khaleesi. He then muttered something to her quickly _good day Queen Zhalli_. He then bowed to Dacey, _good day Lady Dacey_ and then disappeared. Zhalli turned to watch him go as he walked even faster, fist clenched tightly as the doors closed behind his retreating figure.

"Queen Zhalli," the largest man in the room boasted, grinning at her. "It is good to see you."

"Jon," her husband had a tone of warning.

"She will not become fearful of me," the man rolled his eyes. "She is a _Dothraki_ and you've seen her father, Your Grace."

"I know," Robb then moved toward his wife. "Queen Zhalli," the title sounded foreign on his lips, she wasn't sure how she felt about it. "These are some of my most trusted advisors, Lord Greatjon Umber, his son Lord Smalljon Umber and Lord Robett Glover." Zhalli had not noticed the last man at their wedding, and she would have.

Zhalli watched each of the large men who studied her and she looked up at Dacey. Dacey Mormont walked toward the men, coming to stand by the table they were standing at and Zhalli moved with her. She came to stand between Dacey and the man by the name of Robett Glove. The man then moved to have her standing between Dacey and her husband. Zhalli looked down at the table and was surprised at the strange image that was on the table, she reached out to run her fingers over the image.

"It's a map of Westeros," her Khal explained and she looked up, meeting his blue eyes. "This is the North," he pointed to the largest section on the map. "And this is Winterfell, my home," he pointed to small writing.

"This is what you and the Khaleesi plan to take?"

"To take back," he corrected. "This will be our Kingdom," he outlined a large area with his finger. Zhalli's heart thundered in her chest and there was finally the reality that set in. She was a Khaleesi and the land she would have was huge… she stared at it in amazement.

All of it, the large space he had traced with his finger belonged to them. Zhalli placed her hand flat on top of the map, studying each line and text with her eyes. And the Khaleesi… she would have the rest, Zhalli let her hand trace down the end of the map. What was Westeros like? She could not imagine it in her mind's eye, all she could think of was grander cities than Meereen and very pale people like the Khaleesi and her husband. Zhalli looked at him now, how he rubbed the bags under his eyes.

"This is yours," Zhalli did not ask, she merely let the words slip from her mouth. "You have an impressive Khalasar, Khal Robb."

"Thank you," he pushed his fingers through his hair. "But it's a kingdom, and I'm _King_ Robb."

"It is the same," she furrowed her brows. "Our people will have space to roam?"

"They should do," Robb shrugged his shoulders. "But I think most of the Dothraki will be around here," he pointed to an area very south of the map. "It seems like a place that would be comfortable and familiar to them."

"How?"

"It's warm there, dry," he wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his palm. "I couldn't say for sure but I'd gather it's like this."

"They will stay with Khal Drogo," she almost remined herself. She was not the Khaleesi of the Dothraki, she was one of them.

"They will," Robb scratched his temple. "But I have enough men to take back the North anyhow."

"To take back the North?" She looked to the North the place he had pointed to that would be theirs.

"We lost it long ago," he explained. "It was taken from us by traitors."

Traitors, she knew of traitors as they had them before. Her father had told her of traitors, men who would swear their allegiance to them only to turn around and then place their allegiance in another's hands, betraying the first they had sworn themselves to. Zhalli always found it… off putting, knowing of traitors. Perhaps there was more about Westeros she needed to learn, but her husband was always with the Khaleesi or busy planning – it did not seem that he would spend any time with her. Zhalli removed her hands from the map and rested her fingertips on the edge of the table.

Holding her sword in front of her, Zhalli stepped forward and dragged her food across the ground. It was then she noticed someone watching her, turning slowly, Zhalli came around to face Arya Stark. The woman was studying her, lips pressed together and watching as she practiced her techniques. Zhalli tore her eyes away from Arya Stark and looked across the yard to the man who was practicing with her, her father. Ifakko strode across the grounds, coming to stand in front of her and she held the sword up, directly at her father's chest.

"You are doing well," he complimented as he studied her. "I am proud."

"I am ready to fight in a war? Should we take Westeros?"

"You should not," Ifakko looked to her womb. "You should be providing the Khal with his heir. You should be large with child when we sail to Westeros, that is your duty."

"Duty," she sneered. "Father, I can fight."

"I know this, I have trained you to fight," Ifakko stepped back. "But you are a Khaleesi now, and fighting is not what should be on your mind. You should be focused on an heir, one strong. Like your Khal."

Zhalli had known her womb was something important, it would carry her sons and her daughters. But she had not thought her father would be the one to pressure her, why was this? She stared at her father as he turned back to her, long braid swinging between his shoulder blades as he took his place at the edge of the training pit. He then turned around to face her, nodding at her and Zhalli placed herself in a crouching position. But another person came to stand beside her, staring at the side of her face.

"Goodsister, Queen Zhalli," turning at her foreign title, Zhalli was even more confused at the first part of the way she had been addressed. Arya Stark moved around her, watching her as if she was a cat and Zhalli was her prey.

"Good… sister…" Zhalli furrowed her brows. "What does this mean?"

"It is what you are to me, my brother's wife, my goodsister," Arya explained. "Your fighting style, it is impressive. But the sword is not your chosen weapon?"

"No," Zhalli admitted. "I much prefer the bow, or the whip," she studied Arya. "But the sword is your choice?"

"I believe there is no finer weapon than a blade," Arya heled up her sword, watching it closely.

"Hm," Zhalli held up her own blade, watching over it. "We will have to agree to disagree."

"Would you like to spar?" Arya suddenly offered the challenge. "I think we're worth more than our womb too," she sent a cutting glare to Zhalli's father. "I'm sure my brother wouldn't object to you taking moon tea until we arrive in Westeros."

"Moon tea?" Zhalli was curious, "What is that?"

"I can make some," Arya then smiled. "We have the ingredients."

"But what is it?" Zhalli demanded, growing impatient.

"Moon tea will prevent a babe from taking root," Arya's eyes flickered to the area of Zhalli's body that her womb rested inside. "It will stop a child from becoming."

"So… I will not give your brother an heir?" Zhalli shook her head, "Will this be permanent?"

"No, as soon as you stop taking moon tea you will become with child, unless there were problems before hand."

"I cannot," Zhalli shook her head. "It is not right. We do not take such a thing."

"My daughter is right," Ifakko came to join the two women who were speaking. "We do not believe in such a thing."

Arya Stark looked between them, "And if you are with child? How are you supposed to fight the men in iron with child? My brother would not let you, at the most he'd request you don't move."

Zhalli did not know what to do. Whilst getting with child so soon to when they would ride to Westeros seemed… irresponsible, she knew it was her duty. It was why she had married Khal Robb in the first place, to give him an heir. If she were to fail on that duty she would be seen as… not fit for marriage. And the Khaleesi had given birth to Rhaegal so soon after her wedding to Khal Drogo, and she had survived. Three births, three strong sons she had given birth to. Zhalli was stronger than the Khaleesi, but still – was it a good idea to get with child?

"Father, I must go," she inclined her head toward him and turned on her heels to get out of there quickly.

"What will you do?" She heard Arya call after her, the girl following her quickly.

"I will take this moon tea," Zhalli then said as they were far from her father. "But we will tell no one."

"Not even Robb?"

"What will he say if I were to take the moon tea?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Arya mused. "But I doubt he'd be happy with the choice."

"Why not?"

"Because men are strange about heirs, yet women are supposed to carry them," she rolled her eyes.

"Then I will not tell him," Zhalli was sure of herself. "You will teach me to brew this tea and I will not become with child, only until after we have taken Westeros from the usurpers."

"Good," Arya came to walk in front of her. "Follow me."

Arya Stark's quarters were quite near Zhalli's quarters with her husband. But they were smaller, almost hidden and there was only one window which was drawn back. There was a fire that was still going even in the warmth and all the blankets and pillows were stripped off the bed, instead placed in front of the fire. Zhalli thought it strange, as there was a bag on the end of the bed too. Arya Stark looked as if she could quickly grab her belongings and leave, if she needed to.

"Wait here," Arya pointed to the table and chairs by the fire.

Zhalli watched as the woman returned to where she was sitting by the fire. Arya had a bag full of all sorts of things, Zhalli watched as Arya began to remove the ingredients and placed them out before her. She then pointed to each of them, telling Zhalli their name and then placing them in a cup of hot water. Zhalli was curious as Arya mixed all of them together and then held it out to Zhalli. There was a tense moment between them, before Zhalli reached over to grasp the warm cup.

"I should warn you," Arya began, "It's not the nicest tea. In fact, it's horrid."

Slowly, Zhalli pulled the cup to her lips and took a sip of the hot liquid. Her mouth then curled in disgust and she coughed, swallowing the liquid before pulling back. "You're right," she spluttered.

"You have to drink all of it," Arya urged her. "If not, there is a chance you will still become with child."

Closing her eyes, Zhalli down the rest of the tea in quick gulps. It burnt her throat and her mouth, she finished and pulled the cup away from her mouth, slamming it down on the furs. Her face scrunched up as she looked at Arya Stark who was leaning back, hands grasping her ankles and watching Zhalli. She felt the moon tea go down her body, she really did not like the taste and she shivered. Although, she knew that taking the moon tea would be beneficial because having a child would be too difficult in such a time. She rubbed her throat, it still ached from the moon tea and there was still the disgusting taste left behind from the moon tea in her mouth.

"This will make sure I do not have a child?"

"Yes," Arya nodded her head slowly. "If you take it constantly, especially after sex it will stop a child."

"Thank you," Zhalli then smiled at the woman, her… goodsister.

"You are welcome," Arya then stood and handed her the bag full of ingredients for the moon tea to Zhalli. "I do not need it anymore."

"You are with child?"

"No," Arya shook her head, twisting her mouth. "No, but I am not going to be lying with a man for a long while."

"Why not?"

Arya suddenly rolled her eyes, "Because I have been reunited with my brother."

"What does that matter?" Zhalli stood up and followed Arya to the window, where she pushed back the window coverings and looked out at Meereen. "Your brother has no say in whether you lie with a man or not."

"But he does," Arya rolled her eyes. "I am not supposed to do such a thing. I am a noblewoman, a Princess," she then snorted. "And my virginity is everything."

"Ah," Zhalli nodded her head slowly. "Yes, I know."

"You would," Arya flicked some hair from her brow. "So… I can't do anything my brother would disapprove of. I don't want to cause him troubles, not now."

"Khal Robb," Zhalli sat across from him, one leg underneath her.

"I have told you to call me Robb," he reminded her as he sat at his desk, studying a letter.

"Will you grow angry with me if I do not wish for a child?"

"What?" He looked up and Zhalli thought it was a bad idea she had taken the moon tea.

"I do not wish to have a child," she clenched her hands into fists. "Not when we are to set sail for Westeros and there will be a war."

Robb Stark studied her and Zhalli stood, hands by her side and challenging him. She had the right, she was his Khaleesi. Robb Stark stopped immediately what he was doing and stood from his seat, Zhalli watched him as he made his way toward her. He stood over her and she had to look up at him, stepping back as he crowded her space. Her husband only seemed to grow large, if such a thing was possible as he swelled in size and she could feel the intimidation that he was showing to strike fear. Why? What was the purpose in causing her to fear him?

Zhalli did not understand.

"I do not understand," Robb shook his head. "We married for you to produce an heir."

"And to strengthen your alliance with Khaleesi, do not forget," she reminded him.

"And part of a marriage is a child," Robb breathed in deeply.

"It is too dangerous for a child," Zhalli narrowed her eyes. "I plan to fight the men in iron, I plan to show them what kind of Khaleesi I will make."

"Fine," Robb suddenly turned his back, "Fine."

" _Ifak_ ," she spat under her breath.

"What did you say to me?" Robb turned around quickly, glowering down at his wife.

"Nothing," she snarled.

"What did you say?" He said the words much slower and he reached out to grasp her chin, finger tips digging into the flesh.

"Nothing," she jerked her chin from his grasp and glowered at him.

"I am sure it was nothing," he sneered. "Why did you ask me such a question?"

"Because I have taken moon tea," she then said. "I have the ingredients and I do not wish to put a child at risk when we land in Westeros."

"Where did you get such a thing?" He demanded of her.

"How is that any of your business?" She tilted her chin up stubbornly.

"It is my business, you are my wife."

"Is my body not my own?"

"I cannot argue any longer," he threw his hands up in frustration. "Excuse me," immediately he stormed toward the door and threw it open. It slammed against the stone wall and Zhalli stepped backward as her husband turned and disappeared through the dark hall. Zhalli stood there, hands clenched in fists and jaw tight as she glowered at the door her husband had disappeared out of.

Throwing herself down on the bed, Zhalli glared up at the ceiling and crossed her arms over her chest. Perhaps she should not have brought it up, but her mother had always told her there were no secrets between husband and wife. Perhaps there should be, Zhalli thought as she rolled over onto her side to gaze into the fire. Why did her husband have to be so stubborn? She did not like it one bit, in fact, she was rather infuriated that he seemed to not want her to fight and only have children. She was _Dothraki_ , made for so much more than just carrying children.

"You," Zhalli suddenly shifted in the bed and she turned her head.

"Who are you?" Zhalli spoke to the shadows.

"Someone who is watching… always watching," the voice sent shivers down her spine. Zhalli slowly put her hand under her pillow, wrapping her hand around the hilt of the dagger she kept there.

"An assassin?" Zhalli curled her lips.

"Perhaps," the person slid into the light, revealing black clothing but their face still remained out of her vision. "I came looking for King Robb Stark, but perhaps I have found the next best thing."

"You have come to kill him?"

"For Queen Cersei," the person held a dagger in their hand. "And for the realm, we cannot let savages on the throne," they sneered and Zhalli knew they would probably target the Khaleesi and Khal Drogo next. She could not let them free.

"Your Khaleesi does not sound good," Zhalli then slid from the bed, holding her own dagger. "She does not sound like my Khaleesi."

"Queen Cersei is a much better Queen and woman than some _girl_ with dragons," the assassin spat and Zhalli narrowed her eyes.

"That girl is my Khaleesi," Zhalli stalked toward the assassin. "And she is a woman."

But as soon as she stepped into the shadows the assassin was gone, "Well done, Queen Zhalli," she felt breath against her ear and she shivered. "But," she felt a blade against her neck. "It is not my time to die and neither is it yours. I only came to warn you that people will want you dead, to give my regards. Goodbye, Queen Zhalli, until we meet again."

Then the blade was gone from her neck as was the presence she had felt behind her. She turned slowly, looking to the window as the curtains moved with the wind. Zhalli looked to the door yet her husband was yet to return so she turned and moved toward the bed. An assassin. What a curious thing. People would want to kill her, well she was not surprised about such a thing as her husband had many enemies and his enemies would become her enemies with their marriage. Her death would mean a lack of heirs on his part, yet he could marry again if she was killed.

Zhalli would not allow an assassin to take her.


	10. X

**So your girl is unreliable and I am so sorry.**

 **But I've been busy and trying to keep my flow of chapters going, especially as I am coming up to the main plot (I'm writing chapter fourteen atm) so it is leaving me anxious lmao.**

 **Also I'm trying to build Zhalli and Robb's relationship, trying to have them build a friendship first - rather than just immediately falling in love. I want them to be allies first.**

 **Anyway, I was a bit busy as I have so many assessments due because end of semester is coming and I have four assessments due next Friday (kill me) and it's very busy so I might not post another chapter until after next week.**

 **And it was my on the 23rd! Woo, I'm actually 19 now so yay, so I didn't really write cause I went clubbing on the weekend lmao.**

 **So onto the story, I hope you like this chapter. Jon is one of my favourite characters so I hope I did him justice but do keep in mind this story has characters that are likely OOC just cause... they are, they're older - shit happens lmao.**

 **Anyway, enjoy Jon and I'll stop rambling xx**

* * *

 **X**

 **JON**

 **SHARP** bitter winds whipped against his cheeks. Jon Snow stood, looking over the Wall with his back straight Jon could feel eyes on him and he turned his gaze to Ser Davos Seaworth. Ser Davos was an aged man and one who had risen against the status of his birth to serve Stannis Baratheon, a man who had declared himself King. Yet, Stannis Baratheon was dead – long gone, five long years since he had attempted to take Winterfell back from the mad man that was Ramsay Bolton. The bastard had taken Jon's home, yet he did not have the power to take it back.

"Lord Commander," his head turned slowly to look down at his closest friend, Samwell Tarly.

"What is it Sam?" He asked quietly, studying his friend who slowly came to stand next to Jon on the platform.

"You received a letter," Sam held out the letter. "It is from your brother, Robb."

"Thank you," Jon hesitantly took the letter.

Only once had Jon received a letter from his father's wife, it had been a letter expressing anger. At him? At the world? Jon was not so sure, but it had been an odd letter after Ramsay Bolton had taken Winterfell. She had been furious with his brother Robb, he had refused to come and help take back his home as he was sailing around Essos and Westeros – causing trouble for Joffrey Baratheon. Lady Stark had wanted someone to take back Winterfell, someone to care. She had thought Jon could be that person, but he could not.

Robb sent him letters whenever he could, his brother was usually busy and often had no time to send letters. Something he learnt had enraged Lady Stark, from what the letters from his sister was to go by. Sansa Lannister, as she went by, had reached out to him after her marriage in an effort to get some advice from him. Jon felt so distant from his family, Bran was North the Wall but had not been heard from since he had sent Rickon to Riverrun. Jon had never felt so far away.

 _Jon,_

 _By the time this letter reaches you I will be wed, to a Dothraki._

Jon raised a brow, a Dothraki?

 _It is the doing of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, I have allied myself with her in efforts to keep the North and the Riverlands independent. I also must let you know that I have found Arya._

His heart clenched, Jon took a deep breath. Everyone had thought Arya dead, and he could not help but admit that he had been one of them who thought her dead as well. He finished reading the letter, folded it and placed it in the inside pocket of his coat. Tapping the side of his pocket lightly, he turned to look over at his friend who was staring out at the Wall. Sam had his hands in the pockets of his coats and his lips were pressed together. Sam was a good man and an even better friend.

"What was the letter about?" Sam was not afraid to ask.

"Robb found Arya," Jon's heart swelled with the news. "And he has married one of the Dothraki."

"A Dothraki," Sam's eyes widened as he looked up at his friend. "What would his mother say?"

"Nothing good, I suspect," Jon could feel the letter burning in his pocket. He expected Lady Stark would be enraged, she had not been able to choose her son's wife for herself. And a Dothraki, Jon could only imagine what sort of woman Robb would have married and how she would grate on Lady Stark's words.

"Hm," Sam nodded his head slowly. "Do you think he would bring his bride to the Wall one day? I'd like to meet a Dothraki, and I'm sure Gilly would too."

Ah, Gilly. A sweet, slim little Wildling that was Sam's not-so-secret lover. They had three children together, including the son that had belonged to Gilly's father and herself. She was a curious little thing and well-loved among the inhabitants of the wall even though many of them were rapists, murderers and thieves. But no one would touch sweet little Gilly, especially not if they wanted to face Sam. Sam was not frightening, but he was best friends with the Lord Commander and that would mean for sure the men would be punished.

"I suppose, when they come to the North, he might bring his wife," Jon shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot know."

"They might invite us to Winterfell," Sam perked up.

"Mayhap," Jon wasn't so sure. He knew his brother would request him to return to Winterfell, perhaps even his help in taking back Winterfell. But he could not, he was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch – he was supposed to have no loyalty.

"I would like to visit Winterfell one day," Sam mused as he studied what was passed the Wall. The snow-capped mountains, something seemingly innocent yet the Wall hid an evil that threatened to return.

Jon knew the dead would return, whether it was in the next sennight or in the next year. It would be some time but they had to be prepared, if not there would be trouble. Turning away from the Wall, Jon decided to head to the elevator and looked over his shoulder for his friend. Sam then stumbled toward him, they got into the elevator together and Jon turned away from the ice wall. He then faced out at Castle Black, studying the people as he went down. He was one of the first Night Commanders in history to have a treaty with the Wildlings, something his men had tried to condemn him for.

"Lord Commander," he turned his head as one of the Wildlings made their way toward him. Val, a beautiful woman with flowing blonde hair. She was a Wildling and fierce woman, but Jon had always loved Ygritte – even though the Wildling woman was dead.

"Val," he nodded at her. "How are you?"

"Well," she took a deep breath. "I feel a change in the air, do you not, Jon Snow?"

He felt the letter burning in his pocket, "I agree." He lowered his hair, looking down at the snow-covered ground. "There is something in the air."

"We have received another letter from Ramsay Bolton," Val's pretty face curled into a sneer. "He has another demand for us."

"And what is it this time?"

"We bend to his will and you send him a woman," Val was disgusted.

"Ah," Jon nodded his head slowly. "The same thing he has demanded of us for years."

"Hm," Val then stepped back with a smile. "Tormund, it is good to see you."

"Val," the large man with red hair and a matching red beard looked to Jon. "Lord Commander, we have a rider approaching Castle Black."

"Thank you, Tormund," Jon nodded at him. "I will deal with it."

Jon looked at the two men for a moment, a little taken at the difference between them. Val was a beauty, often mistaken as a princess and many of the men who could wished to marry her. Her hair was long and light blonde, curling lightly as it fell to her waist. Her pale blue eyes studied men sharply, distrust in them and it was clear that she deemed them unworthy of her time. Val was, perhaps, one of the most beautiful women that Jon had ever seen.

Tormund, on the other hand, was large and very, very tall. His red hair and red beard were wild, he had a scar over his eye and he was a man whose grin was enough to make his enemies fear him. Tormund was a large man and he towered over most men, except for Wun Wun, the giant, in Castle Black. He was a fierce fighter too, so much so that Jon had given the Wildling the ability to train some of his men.

Moving toward the gates, Jon stood with his men as the rider came thundering into Castle Black. They skidded to a stop, eyes wide and they appeared startled as they gazed at the men and several women staring at them. It was a man, Jon observed, no older than Robb and appeared taller than him. He was a large man, with thick arms from what gathered. The man had bright blue eyes and thick, black curls that appeared to fall over his shoulders.

"Is this the Night's Watch?" The man asked, brows furrowed as he looked around at the crowd, especially at the children to stared up at the man on the black steed.

"Yes," Jon stepped forward. "Who is asking?"

"Gendry Waters," he slipped off the back of his horse and offered his hand.

"Jon Snow," Jon shook the man's hand. The man was an inch or so taller than Jon, and much thicker than Jon's strong, lean figure.

"Lord Eddard Stark's bastard?" Gendry studied Jon, blinking slowly.

"Yes," Jon frowned.

"I met your father once," the man said casually. "He came to see me, I was a blacksmith you see. He asked me a few questions and just stared, it was bloody strange if I say so myself." He then cleared his throat, "I'm the bastard of Robert Baratheon, according to some Red Witch."

That did not mean much to many of the occupants of Castle Black, but to those it did mean something to stopped to watch the man. "I met your father once," Jon studied the man. "He wasn't the great man the stories painted him to be."

"I know," Gendry shrugged his shoulders. "I never even met the man."

"Well," Jon nodded at him. "It is nice to meet you, Gendry. Have you come to join the Night's Watch?"

"No," Gendry shook his head. "I came because I had nowhere else to go."

"And why did you have nowhere else to go?" Jon asked as he led Gendry through Castle Black to the dining hall where most of their meetings were conducted.

"Cersei Lannister's spies are closing in on me," he shivered. "I'm not the only of Robert's bastards still alive, but I'm the only one she knows of."

"Why are they after you?" Jon frowned, "Robert Baratheon died years ago, her son is the King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"A shit King," Gendry curled his nose. "And your brother is King of the North, or am I wrong?"

"You're not," Jon shrugged his shoulders. "But the southerners do not see it that way. So why have they come after you?"

"They tried years ago," Gendry admitted. "Just after Robert died, many of his bastards were killed. But not all of them. And I am the oldest male, Joffrey is trying and failing to give the kingdom heirs. There is growing suspicion and anger among the smallfolk."

"Toward the Lannisters?"

"Yes," Gendry nodded. "I've seen it. Kings Landing is a mess, filled with starvation and crime, but they do not fix it. Many people go without food, even on the country side. And the North," he shuddered. "It is a cold, barren wasteland that Ramsay Bolton has raped and pillaged."

Jon's eyes shut, his childhood home – his life blood, ruined. "And what do you suggest?"

"I want to declare for your brother," Gendry then smiled. "It would do well for a Stark and a Baratheon to work together, do you not think? Even if I am a bastard."

"Why did you come to me?" Jon frowned, "Why not ride to Lady Stark in the Riverlands?"

"Ah," Gendry shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't think Lady Stark would treat a bastard well," he looked down. "I met your sister, you see, Arya. When we were younger, we were travelling North before we were separated." Jon leaned forward, Arya – he had not heard of her in so long. "And she told me of you, your treatment by Lady Stark and I did not think she would be welcoming to me."

Jon was unsurprised, "Well, you are welcome here." He cleared his throat, "I will send a letter to Robb, I do not know if it will get to him soon. He is currently in Essos."

"Across the Narrow Sea?" Gendry's brows furrowed, "Why would he be there?"

"He's trying to make an ally of the Dragon Queen," Jon answered casually, slowly. "I do not know when he will return, if he will ever return."

Gendry frowned, "Well, can I stay here for a while then?"

"I cannot see why not," Jon shrugged his shoulders. "Wildlings inhabit Castle Rock, and you must pull your weight."

"Good thing I'm a smith then," Gendry was positive. "Do you have a place I can rest?"

Gendry was led by Val toward a place where he would be sharing with other men. Gendry was a little struck by Val's beauty but quickly averted his gaze, completely opposite to his father who would have stared blatantly. Gendry seemed a little embarrassed by looking at her, Jon then turned his attention back to the Wildlings that surrounded him. Tormund stepped up and Jon clasped his hands together, looking at the beast Gendry had arrived on that was led to the stables.

"We are running out of room," Tormund reminded Jon.

"I know," Jon was concerned about it. "But we will have to make do with what we have. It is too dangerous," there was a lot of danger. It surrounded them, but there was nothing they could do.

Jon's mornings consisted of reading letters sent to him from all over the Seven Kingdoms. It was a tiring business, listening to the demands of Lords and how they thought he should run the Wall. No one liked that he had close ties with the Wildlings, in fact, some of them believed he should be over thrown. Jon reached up to rub his chest where he had been stabbed multiple times, left to bleed out until he had been brought back. They had tried to over throw him, yet they failed.

"What complaints have you received today?" He looked up as Tormund made his way toward him.

"Many," Jon breathed out harshly, "But it is what I suspect. It appears they have many things to complain about."

"Bloody Southerners," Tormund cracked a grin and then held out a jug of wine. "Your wine is shit, Snow."

"Have you tried ale?"

"That piss poor ale," Tormund spat with a laugh. "It's gone stale, you should get some more."

"I think we have more pressing matters than ale," Jon furrowed his brows. "We need more food for the winter, we are running out. And with Ramsay Bolton the Warden of the North," he clenched his hands into fists. "I doubt he will send any to us. And the Northern Lords that are still in the North fear the bastard too much to send us any food or grain."

"So what do we do?" Tormund frowned, "Send out raiding parties?"

"Hm," Jon shrugged his shoulders. "I am unsure."

"We have to get food somehow," Tormund said slowly. "If not we'll all starve to death."

"I know this," Jon was tired. Tired of being the Lord Commander, sometimes he just wanted to run away and forget the life he was living. But he couldn't, he was stuck and it was something he had to live with. "But there is not much else we can do. Right now we wait, when we get short on food we go out hunting and we make sure there is enough for everyone."

"Right," Tormund grew silent.

Jon read over the letters and placed them in piles to be burnt. He was disgusted at the letter from King's Landing, a demand that the Wildlings all be put down otherwise Joffrey would send someone to deal with him. The King would not, he faced much discontent from his people in the South – he would never come North, not again. He read over other letters, curious at the one from Dorne which he stuffed into a pocket and would send an answer to when he could. Jon reached over to take a sip of water and looked up at Tormund who was watching him.

"I like the Gendry lad," Tormund suddenly said. "Good head on his shoulders, and a big, bloody bastard. I didn't know you bred men like that in the South."

Jon sent a dry look to his friend, "He's a Baratheon."

"And that's supposed to mean something to me?" Tormund snorted, "You're big but you're small too. He's big all over, his arms are the size of tree trunks."

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were in love," Jon teased.

"I can appreciate a good warrior Snow," Tormund pointed a finger to his friend.

"Of course," Jon rose to his feet. "Gendry is good with a war hammer," the Baratheon bastard had been there little over a week. He trained with the men and showed miraculous skill with a hammer, but he wasn't as good with a sword. Jon appreciated the strength of Gendry and so did many of the Wildlings and the men of the Night's Watch. He fit in well with them all and already was working on better armour and weapons in the forge for the Wildlings and the men of the Night's Watch. Jon had come to respect the man, he was nothing like what Jon had briefly seen of his father.

Jon followed Tormund out of the dining hall and he came to stand on the balcony. His hands rested on the barriers and he looked down at the men who were training. Most of them were men of the Night's Watch, others were Wildling who were already focused on building relations and preparing themselves for the wars to come. The war that was inevitable was the one over Westeros, between the Dragon Queen, Wolf King and the Bastard King in the South – Jon dreaded when it came.

Heading down the stairs to the training grounds, Jon's eyes ran over the new recruits and watched as they fought against each other, training harder than ever before. New recruits didn't come as often as they used to, from what Jon gathered by men from before he was even considering joining the Night's Watch. The recruits that did come were mostly volunteers, men that had no home to go to after they had lost everything during the wars or due to the Lannisters and their reign. Jon felt pity for the men, he had not lost everything but he had lost his home.

"Lord Commander," the men stopped what they were doing. Eddison Tollett stood to the side, nodding at his commander.

"Edd," Jon took a deep breath, "How are the recruits coming along?"

"Well," Edd looked over the men he was training. "They should be ready for raids passed the wall in a week or so," Jon watched the faces of the men as they paled.

"Good," Jon then nodded at the men. "You've done well," he looked up, pressing his lips together as he looked at the older members of the Watch who looked over them. Not all of had been pleased when he had become Commander of the Night's Watch all those years before.

The men seemed jittery and pale, one of them stepped forward. "We will need to go… beyond the Wall?" The man spoke with a Flea Bottom accent.

"You didn't think the Wall would be easy did ya?" Edd snorted, "There is nothing easy about being a man of the Watch."

"Right," the man nodded his head, lips pressed together as he stepped back in line. "Will the bastard of King Robert join the Watch?"

"No," Jon shook his head. "He has not come to join the Watch."

"I thought all men had to join the Watch," one of the men glowered. "We don't get a choice."

"You're criminals," Edd reminded them. "You raped a young girl," there was disgust in his tone. "But we forget and you atone for your sins. The Baratheon Bastard is here to serve a different purpose, one to King Robb."

"I thought men of the Watch were not meant to take sides in the war," a small boy frowned. What had he done? Jon didn't want to know, he was just so young that he would find out from Edd.

Nodding at his men he then turned to leave them, hands in front of his chest as he made his way through Castle Black. He decided to look for Sam and Gilly, the two who would be together in the library or eating. Jon decided to head to the library first, heading up the stairs and through one of the doors. He made his way to the library door and placed his hand on the door handle, he opened it slowly and peered into the large, warm room. The library was larger than the one at Winterfell, but he knew it could not be as big as the one in the Citadel.

"Mama," a childlike voice could be heard echoing through the library. "What's this word?"

"Uh," Gilly's familiar voice struggled to read the word. "Sam, what's this word?"

"It's a name, King Jaehaerys Targaryen the First, or Jaehaerys the Wise." Sam answered in a matter of fact, "See, Jon."

Jon moved through the books and came to the little nook by the roaring fire that had been made for Gilly and her children. Her youngest son which was named after Jon sat on her lap, curious about the words that were written down on the page that Gilly was holding. Their oldest son, Sam, was nowhere to be seen but that wasn't so strange as he was probably bothering Hobb, the cook. The newest of their children, a babe and a girl, was in a little basinet by the fire and sleeping soundly. Jon smiled as he made his way toward the family.

"Jon," the child grinned at him, pushing himself off his mother's lap to throw himself at his namesake.

Jon Snow grinned and lifted the boy into his arms, "He is picking up the words quickly then?" Jon asked his two friends.

"He is like his father," Gilly admitted as she leaned over to check on her daughter.

"I can even count to ten now!" Jon bragged to the man who was much like his uncle, a grin on his face so like Sam's.

Seeing Sam and Gilly so happy made Jon want to children of his own. Already his rule as Lord Commander was rather unconventional, but it was not as if he could have children. Sam was an exception, not the rule. Heart heavy, Jon pressed a kiss to Jon's temple and lowered the boy to the ground. He then studied his friends as Jon hurried back to sit himself back on his mother's lap, resting his head back against her bosom. Gilly brushed back her son's brown hair, kissing the top of his head before putting the book back on their laps.

"How can we help you, Jon?" Sam suddenly asked, looking up at his best friend.

Jon shrugged his shoulders and moved to sit down, "I needed a break. You two are the only people I know that are able to escape and that is why I decided to join you both."

"You're welcome to sit with us Jon," Gilly smiled at him.

"Where is Sam?" Jon then asked curiously.

"Off bothering Hobb," Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Today he told us he'd like to be the cook for the Night's Watch, said he'd be able to make our food a lot tastier than Hobb every could."

Jon laughed, "Our meals aren't as fine as they are in the South. Have you told him that?"

"Of course we have," Gilly rolled her eyes. "He won't listen however, I fear he'll head South to be a cook in the grand kitchens of the King."

"Maybe one day he can do that."


	11. XI

**So I am so sorry that I am updating so late, and honestly I can't really remember what is in this chapter atm.**

 **But anyway enjoy, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

 **Love you guys, thank you for the support xx**

* * *

 **XI**

 **DAENERYS**

 **IT** would not be long before they set sail for Westeros. She was ready, she wanted to take it back. Standing on her balcony, she gazed out at the city of Meereen and the ships that were docked in the harbour. It was time to take back her home, to watch those who had taken it burn. Hearing a screech overhead, she looked up as Drogon flew over the city. Yes, she would ride her dragon and arrive in Westeros, allowing her men to sack the city. In a day, she could take King's Landing and punish her enemies, she would not feel so empty.

"Moon of my life," she heard the voice of her husband behind her and she turned slowly.

"My sun and stars," she breathed out slowly, smiling at him.

"What are you thinking of?" Drogo came behind her, resting his hands on her hips and letting his chin rest on the top of her head.

"How exciting it will be to finally take back what is mine," she smiled, a smile only reserved to when she was thinking of taking back the Iron Throne. How she wanted her sons to grow up in her home, her proper home.

"And we will take it," Drogo vowed as he moved his hands down his arms. "Vorsakko is like you," it is the first time they had spoken of such a thing, since before Robb Stark's wedding to Zhalli.

"I know," Daenerys was proud that her son was like her, "I am proud."

"I asked him how he knew," Drogo told his wife in the language of the Dothraki. "He stuck his hand into an open flame trying to collect food he had dropped."

Daenerys could not help but laugh, "Vorsakko does love his food. I am not surprised."

"Will they condemn him?" Drogo's voice rumbled, "Will they try to harm my son?"

"Not if I have any say about it," she turned around, reaching up to pat his bare chest lightly. "They will not harm him. He is a Targaryen and a dragon, fire cannot kill a dragon."

Her husband did not look so sure, she found it comforting that he cared so much for his son. Daenerys wrapped her arms around him, stepping up on her toes and pressing her lips to his to his jaw. He then turned to place his hand on the back of her head, moving his lips down to press his lips against her own. The two of them stood kissing, mouths moving against each other slowly, softly. Drogo's hand gripped her hip and Daenerys felt desired and loved, which was why she backed her husband into their chambers.

They lay naked in the aftermath, "I adore you." She whispered as she lay across his chest, his hand dragging up and down her pale back.

"As I you," Drogo pressed his lips to the top of her head once again. "I wish to see your body swell with child once again."

"I do too," she came to rest her hand on top of his that rested over her stomach. "And it will, I hope that I will give you many more children."

"And you will," he pulled her closer in his arms. "You are strong, Moon of my Life."

Daenerys basked in the glory of his praise, reaching up to touch his cheek. As she was about to kiss him again, a knock could be heard on her door, "Yes?" She called, sitting up slowly.

"Khaleesi," Missandei's voice was heard through the door. "May I speak with you?"

"Of course," Daenerys stood from the bed. "I will meet with you in a moment."

Daenerys dressed without help, wearing a simple gown she could remove herself and left her hair loose. She left Drogo to himself, but he would most likely leave to spend time with his people as she went to look for her friend and confidant, Missandei. She found the girl waiting for her in the throne room, Zhalli standing with her. Zhalli looked out of place, still wearing the clothing of her Dothraki people and looking anywhere but at her. Zhalli was a Queen now, which meant they were equal, yet Daenerys could not deny she was pleased Zhalli still saw her as Queen.

"What is the problem?" Daenerys asked as she sat down at her thrown.

"My Queen," Missandei stepped forward, lips pressed together. "Queen Zhalli wished to speak with you."

"Then let her speak," Daenerys tilted her chin, "Queen Zhalli. It is time you speak for yourself, what is it you have to say?"

"Khaleesi," Zhalli licked her lips. "I think I have displeased my husband."

"Already?" Daenerys raised an incredulous brow, "How is that possible?" She then gave a smile, but she did not entirely understand.

"He wishes for an heir and I do not wish to give him one," Zhalli suddenly stuck her chin in the air. "If we are to fight the men in iron I wish to fight too and I cannot do so heavy with child."

"I agree," Daenerys nodded her head slowly. "Have you told him such?"

"He has said he needs an heir," Zhalli frowned. "I am conflicted. Father wishes for me to give my husband an heir. Is that all I am supposed to be?"

"No," Daenerys slid from her throne. "You are a Khaleesi, you are more than just a Mother. But being a Mother is a gift, giving your Khal heirs is something to have pride in."

"I also wish to experience battle," Zhalli placed her hand to the skin over her womb. "Which is why I take moon tea."

"Moon tea," Daenerys clicked her tongue, "But what if you were to die in battle? Your Khal would be without an heir, without a wife."

"He will take another," Zhalli was unconcerned as she shrugged her shoulders. "Just as most Khals do." She then cocked her head to the side, "Will he not take another wife no matter?"

"No," Daenerys had been enraged when she had first found out about the polygamous marriages of the Dothraki. She had refused to ever be the second wife. "Men of Westeros do not believe in multiple wives."

There was no relief on Zhalli's face, instead she looked uncomfortable. "That means I am responsible for his heirs?"

"Yes," Daenerys pressed her lips together. "You will always be responsible for his heirs and it is important to Westeros. That is why he does not want you to fight and does not want you taking moon tea."

Frustrated, Zhalli crossed her arms over her chest, "I do not like it."

"You are a woman," Daenerys reminded her, Zhalli's black eyes met Daenerys's violet eyes. "This is the life we were given, it is something that we cannot fight. We are to give heirs to our husband."

"I understand," Zhalli hung her head, "I thank you Khaleesi, you have helped to clear my mind."

"Better I than your father or husband," Daenerys told her. "Men do not understand what it takes to carry a child, to risk your life in childbirth. It is better you risk your life in childbirth to give your husband an heir rather than risk your life in battle with no heir."

"Excuse me, Khaleesi," Zhalli suddenly said, leaving the throne room.

Daenerys sighed heavily, "She will bring King Robb Stark trouble, won't she?" Missandei said nothing, "Was I a fool for allowing such a marriage to go ahead?" She then studied her friend, "Perhaps I should have allowed the marriage between the both of you to go ahead instead."

"I am grateful to be considered," Missandei spoke carefully. "But I did not wish to be Queen, I serve my Queen because I choose to." She then cleared her throat, "Zhalli is young, she will grow to understand her husband."

It was what Daenerys hoped, she did not want to be the one who watched a marriage fail because she had stupidly paired the wrong people together. But it would not be her responsibility, it would be their own to make sure that the marriage worked. Standing slowly from the throne, Daenerys made her way down the steps and turned back. It was a simple thrown, a small, stone stool situated enough to make her larger and powerful. It would be nothing like when she finally got to sit on the Iron Throne, the seat of her family.

Smiling kindly at her friend, Daenerys continued out of the throne room with Missandei following after her. Putting the problems between Robb Stark and Zhalli to the back of her mind, Daenerys went in search of her sons as they would be the ones to offer her some sort of comfort in the trying time. She could not wait to give them the life she had always wanted, the Princes of Westeros. Her Rhaegar, Prince Rhaego, Heir of the Iron Throne and heir to his father's Khalasar. Daenerys could not wait for the day she burnt the Usurpers to the ground.

"When will we leave?" She turned slowly to the drawl of a Northerner, Robb Stark came to stand beside her.

"Soon," she answered. "Soon we will set sail and they will feel our wrath."

"Good," he breathed in deeply. "It is time."

"I agree," she placed her hands in front of her and then turned slightly. She faced Robb Stark, "Zhalli spoke with me earlier. She is conflicted."

"She wants to fight," Robb Stark's voice was gruff. "She is taking moon tea to avoid growing with child, my Lords will never accept such a thing."

"Why would they not accept such a thing?" Daenerys rose a brow, "She wishes to fight for the land of her husband, for the land she will be Queen of."

"The North is different, Your Grace," Robb showed no hesitance in educating her on the North. "Women are meant to be protected-"

"To hold no power other than birthing heirs to their husbands?" She challenged suddenly and his blue eyes met her violet eyes as he looked down at her.

"No," his voice was sharp. "That is not the North. Lady Maege Mormont is the Lady of Bear Island and all her daughters are fierce warriors. But as I am King in the North, there are expectations of my wife."

"Perhaps you should be telling your wife these expectations," Queen Daenerys had nothing more to stay to the both of them. It was something they needed to sort out themselves, she could not be the one to sort it out for them.

"Perhaps I should," Robb Stark suddenly agreed. "I received a letter from my sister, Lady Sansa, she is with child."

"Oh," Daenerys nodded her head slowly. "With a husband?"

"Yes," his jaw clenched. "She is married to Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock."

"And who is this man?" Daenerys watched Robb Stark. She knew of the Lannisters of course, one of them had sent a blade into her father's back – betraying him.

"Half-man," Robb answered casually, "A dwarf."

"Oh."

"Yes," Robb grunted. "The Lannisters forced my sister to wed Tyrion Lannister years before. They escaped after he killed his father and soon took control of the Westerlands and Casterly Rock, the ancient seat of his family. They will declare for us," blue eyes met violet again, "We will have the North, Vale, Riverlands and Westerlands on our side."

"Four out of the Seven Kingdoms," Queen Daenerys mused. "Perhaps that will be as good as it gets."

"Of course," Robb then stressed. "Dorne will declare for you, they will do anything to get their revenge against the Lannisters for killing Princess Elia Martell and her children."

"Yes," Daenerys agreed. "My nephew and niece." She cleared her throat, taking a deep breath. "Thank you for your council, King Robb Stark. You may be excused," he then nodded at her and left, nodding at her husband who made his way through the door, making his way toward her.

Leaving the chambers she was residing in, Daenerys decided to hunt down her sons. Najaho would be with some of the Dothraki women who held it in high honour that their Khaleesi allowed them to care for their daughter. She often left her children with the women of the Dothraki, so she would continue as she would not trust the women of Westeros. While she would become their Queen, to weaken her would be to kill her children – weakening her line. Making her way down some stairs, Daenerys found herself smiling as she walked out to the area where the small Dothraki children played.

"Khaleesi," the women greeted her as she came to sit with them.

Daenerys acknowledged them with a nod of her head, "Where is Najaho?" She asked quietly and noticed one of them women pointing behind her. Daenerys turned her head and smiled as she watched one of the young girls holding Najaho.

"He is a good boy," one of the elder women told her. "Hardly ever cries, sits and watches."

"I know," she watched as the girl noticed her Khaleesi staring and hurried to place her son on her lap. "He is my sun," she smiled at the girl who placed Najaho in her arms.

"You will have more children," she looked up in surprised as one of the oldest women leaned forward to place a hand on her shoulder. "You will have many more when we take back your home."

"That is what I hope," she agreed. "I hope for a permanent home for the Dothraki and for more children," smoothing her hand over her son's head, she smiled at the women. "We will need to invite Zhalli."

"Khaleesi Zhalli?" The women shared looks, "She has never shown an interest in such things before."

"She is a warrior," Daenerys agreed, and had been trained that way since Daenerys had met her. "But she needs to learn to be a mother."

"She is right," a woman with a child suckling on her breast leaned forward. "She is to give her Khal many children, we know this."

"She must learn to care for them," a woman with greying hair agreed. "We will invite her."

"But know, Khaleesi," the oldest woman of the bunch warned her. "It is only up to her if she is to accept such an invitation. She may decline, she is a Khaleesi now."

Daenerys pressed her lips together but knew that Zhalli was still in a phase where she did not believe herself to be Khaleesi. It meant that it would be simple enough to convince her to join the women, she would be unable to decline an invitation from Daenerys. Smiling, Daenerys only buried her nose on the top of Navajo's thick curls. He shoved his fist into his mouth and Daenerys looked out at the sky, where her other children were circling around Meereen. Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal – other children who held a deep place in her heart that could not be replaced.

"They know," one of the elders suddenly said and Daenerys turned her head slowly to look at the woman. "They know that we will sail to your home lands, that we will take them back from your enemies."

"Will you ride them into battle, Khaleesi?" One of the younger women without any children asked in excitement.

"I do not know," she said slowly, "I had not thought of it." Her family had been dragon riders once, but she had never ridden one of them before. She was content with riding her horses and letting her dragons fly free.

"Perhaps you should," the girl then grinned at her. "Imagine what your enemies will think as you ride your dragons into battle."

"It will be like Aegon the Conqueror," she whispered slowly. She could feel the blood of her ancestors within her, the ones who took power for themselves so long ago. She could do it, she would ride her dragons across the sea to take back her throne. "I will do it," she said with confidence, holding Najaho close to her body. "I will ride my children across the sea to take back what is rightfully mine."

The women said nothing more and Daenerys decided she would talk to her husband about it. Whilst she did not need his permission she knew the smartest decision would be to discuss with Khal Drogo. He was not the fondest of her dragons, in fact, the first time they had hatched he had been terrified – he had called them monsters. It was the first and only time Daenerys had ever hated him, even on their wedding she had not hated him as much as she had then. But he let them be and they let him be, but they were part of her and they could not change that.

"When we sail to the West," one of the elders cleared their throat. "It will not be as it is here, will it Khaleesi?"

"It will not," she agreed. "But I have never seen it. Yet raiding as the Dothraki have done for centuries will not do," she answered softly, feeling sorry she had to take such a big part of who they were away from them. "My people will never accept it."

"Why not?" One of the girls frowned, "Why will they not follow what you will say? They will have to allow such a thing if you make it so."

"I cannot make it so," her voice was hard and Najaho fussed. Holding him closer to her, she comforted him. "I cannot, the people will not understand and they will rebel. The Dothraki can move around, they can travel all of Westeros as they do not have to stay in one place. But they must not raid against the people or take slaves, I will not allow it."

"Of course, Khaleesi," the girl ducked her head.

But the girl was thinking what all the women were thinking.

It would be hard for Daenerys would struggle to inform Khal Drogo of such a thing.

"You will ride them?" Drogo asked as the two of them stood outside the pit of her dragons. They were alone, she only allowed him with her when she would attempt to ride Drogon.

"Yes," she turned to look at him. "They are my blood and of my people, they will not hurt me."

"I know this," Drogon pressed his lips together. "But it will be dangerous in battle, what if they are to shoot you down from the skies and I cannot protect you?"

"They will protect me," she suddenly said. "They will never let harm come to me," as if hearing her speak of them, Rhaegal flew overhead, much closer to their heads and let out a screech of affection.

A smile crossed her face and Drogo moved closer to her, placing his hands on her waist. "Then you will ride them," he murmured. "You will ride them as I ride the stallion and we will take back the throne of iron."

"Yes," she backed closer to him and turned in his arms. "But I must practice this flight, I must learn how to control them in flight."

"Then you will practice," Drogo watched the dragons as they soared above their heads. One of them, the large, black one named after him, soared and landed in front of them. "I will stand watch."

"Drogo," she smiled at him and reached up, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw and then turning to her dragon. "Drogon," she said his name quietly and spoke in High Valyrian, speaking slowly and walking even slower. But the dragon allowed her to press herself against him, to run her hands over his thick, rough scales.

Daenerys did nothing but stand there and run her hands over his neck and face. Drogon was a part of her and he would never hurt her, but he would hurt others to make sure that she was safe and protected. He would hurt her husband, she knew that but she still wanted Drogon to meet Drogo. She turned slowly, waving her hand for Drogo to move closer to them. He appeared hesitant and it rather amused her, her big, strong husband who was not usually frightened was wary of her dragons. But most grown men would be, they would be fools not to be.

Hesitantly, Drogo touched the side of Drogon's face and the dragon did nothing. Daenerys could not help but feel warmth spread through her entire body, the idea of the two of them bonding was almost too much for her. She ran her hand along the spikes on Drogo's head, they were thick and hard, someone could die impaled on the spikes. Grasping one of them, Daenerys was sure they would be enough that she could hold onto them when they flew. There was an excitement that sparked in her, flying would be one of the most freeing things she had ever experienced.

"I cannot wait to fly," Daenerys said suddenly, "It will be exhilarating."

"You will be safe," Drogo said suddenly, hand moving to cup the back of her head. "They will never let you fall."

"I know," she rested her cheek against Drogo's chest. "I think I would like to ride now."

"But you have never done it before," her husband protested quietly.

"I know," her heart was pounding inside her chest, excitement vibrated through her body. "But we are ready," she could feel it, the sudden need to take off in flight upon Drogon.

"You will be careful," Drogo said and drew her attention away from her direwolf. He grasped the sides of her face lightly, "You will be careful, I cannot lose you. Moon of my life."

"You will not lose me," she breathed in deeply. "I am not going anywhere," she came to rest her hand against his chest, curling her hand into a fist as he came to rest his forehead against her own.

"I love you," he suddenly grumbled in the Common Tongue.

"As I love you," she beamed at him. "Now step back," she urged him and turned to climb onto Drogon's back.

Daenerys's hands gripped the spikes as she pulled herself up the rough spikes of Drogon's neck and over his shoulder. The dragon shifted to the foreign weight upon his back and Daenerys whispered softly in High Valyrian, trying to calm the large dragon. She ran her hands down his neck as she settled between his shoulder blades. It was odd, she thought as her legs spread. It was almost as if she was riding a horse, a large, fire-breathing, flying horse. Daenerys called for Drogon to fly and his wings began to move, pushing himself into the air.

It was surreal, Daenerys thought as she laughed at the air that whipped around her head. Her hair whipped around her face and she gripped to the spikes on Drogon's body as they continued to move further through the air. Brave enough, she glanced down at the ground and felt her stomach churn as she gazed down at the whole of Meereen beneath her. People became specks to her, Daenerys gulped as she turned to look back up at the sky, where Viserion and Rhaegal were flying in a circle above them. Daenerys had never felt better as they continued to ascend.

They came to a stop and Drogon reared his head out, letting out a loud cry that was answered by his brothers. Daenerys felt her heart swell and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Drogon's neck. Was this how he ancestors had felt when they rode their dragons? She could only imagine; did she appear like Visenya or Rhaenys? There was no questioning it, she was going to ride Drogon across the Narrow Sea to take back the ancient seat of her house. If anyone tried to stop her they would feel her dragon fire.


	12. XII

**Another chapter, I hope you enjoy. There's nothing much going on in this, just bonding for Zhalli and Robb because I at least need to work on their relationship. But it's a slow burn, so they're not going to be declaring their love for each other any time soon.**

 **It's not that I don't often write slow burns, it's just that with most fics I hardly ever get to the growing/developing emotions stage so if it's not that good I am so sorry.**

 **It's just - with most fics I end up giving up and moving on. But I'm determined to see this one through, to finish it and do the planned sequels. I still don't know if anyone will read sequels, but you know - I'm just grateful people are reading this.  
**

 **But thank you guys.**

* * *

 **XII**

 **ROBB**

 **ALONE** , Robb Stark contemplated his subsequent marriage to a Dothraki woman. She was tough and was quite clear when she did not like something, but they had only been married for a little less than a moon and yet they had not grown any closer. Only once had they spent the night together and that had been on their wedding night. Every night after that she had successful avoided him, disappearing to spend her nights elsewhere. It had Robb wondering if his wife had a lover, yet she had come to him a virgin – so he somewhat doubted she had a lover.

But as much as Robb knew he should have wondered about his wife and gotten to know her better, he found he did not care what she was up to. He was focusing on his battle plans to take back Westeros. They were suffering, Robb had successfully cut off and stolen a lot of their supplies. The people were starving, they would be open to accepting Daenerys Targaryen if she could prove that she was a better ruler than what they had known. Robb licked his lips as he looked down at the map of Westeros.

They could not attack King's Landing head on, it would be impossible to sail right into the docks. They would see them coming and they would be prepared to kill them. Yet it would be impossible to sneak up and take King's Landing, yet it was the place they had to take. To get rid of the Lannisters, taking the North was a priority for him but he would take it once Queen Daenerys was placed back on the Iron Throne. Then, only then, would be head North and slaughter the bastard who claimed his family's ancestral home as his own.

"Robb," he looked up slowly at his sister to entered his chambers.

"Arya," he looked away from the map of Westeros. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," she shook her head as she stepped further into the room. Her hands were behind her back, "I just wanted to know what is going on."

"Going on with what?"

"With your wife," Arya rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Nothing of importance," Robb then frowned at his youngest sister. "Is that all you wanted to know?"

"No," she suddenly looked around the chambers. "Your chambers are quite nice. I suppose, that is what the King in the North deserves – correct?"

Robb couldn't help but narrow his eyes, "Where are you going with this, Arya?"

"Nowhere," she blinked innocently, but there was something inside him that recoiled at the innocence. His sister… she was not the same as she once was, no matter how hard she tried to appear to be.

"Hm," he mused. "Are you prepared to return to Westeros? To fight the Lannisters and take back our home?"

"I have been ready for years," she suddenly admitted, a dark glint in her eye that had Robb concerned. Who was Arya Stark?

As much as he hated to admit it, Arya Stark was not the same girl he had known as a child. There was something darker about her, but that was to be expected. Yet she never spoke of herself, nor the time she had spent in Essos – her lips were tight and he knew that she would never speak of it. Robb studied his sister who stood in a tunic and trousers, hands behind her back as she studied the bed he usually slept on. Why she was studying that Robb could not be sure, so he stood straight and decided to confront her.

"What are you looking at?" Robb challenged his sister, placing his hands on his narrow hips.

Her head whipped around and she blinked at him, "Your wife spends no time in your bed."

"How do you know?"

"Because she sleeps outside under the stars," Arya shrugged her shoulders. "Not many know this of course, she's rather sneaky."

"And is that a problem?" Robb narrowed his brows, "Many newly, wedded couples do not share the same room."

"But you also do not spend time together," Arya reminded him. "Neither of you make any efforts to know each other. How can that be good for your people?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your relationship is not stable," Arya shrugged her shoulders. "You are not working together to achieve your goal. Instead you're distant, that was not how Mother and Father were. The people of the North would hate that."

Robb took a deep breath, "You don't know anything about my marriage, Arya."

"Perhaps I know more than you do," she suggested. "As I go out of my way to talk to my goodsister, to understand her and get to know her. We train together every day," she then grinned, "In fact, I am late for our training."

"Training," Robb let the word slip out of his mouth as his sister turned to leave the chambers. Robb decided to follow after her, his sister was quick but when Robb caught sight of something he made sure to hunt it down before it got away. He was a lot like Grey Wind, like that. He came out into the warm sun of Meereen and immediately held his hand up in front of his eyes, watching as his sister stepped over to Zhalli who stood by the edge of the training ground.

Zhalli smiled at his sister, she was already holding a blade and the two of them immediately got into positions. Robb moved closer and then noticed his goodfather on the other side of the ring, watching the two of them critically. Robb had not gotten a chance to speak with the man, he had made no efforts to get to know his new family – but neither had they made any efforts to get to know him. It was a lose-lose situation, none of them were willing to breach each other in order to get to know each other. But still, Robb watched on.

Zhalli held her swore correctly, but she did not seem as strong in it as Arya stepped around her. Zhalli was the first to attack, stepping forward and holding her sword up in the air. He watched as Arya immediately ducking and kicking at the back of Zhalli's legs. His wife stumbled but did not yield, instead she gripped her sword tight and whipped around to glower at his younger sister. Ifakko nodded and spoke in Dothraki, Robb could only imagine what he was saying as he watched the two women train together.

"You are tough," he heard his wife grumble. "You are strong."

"As are you," Arya stated but did not taunt. "But the sword isn't your strength, is it?"

"No," Zhalli straightened her shoulders, "But this is." She slipped something from her belt and then flicked it out. It was a whip, odd, Robb thought to himself as the whip wrapped around his sister's ankle. Zhalli yanked it and Arya hit the ground hard, his wife then let out a laugh and he was a little surprised at the sound. It was husky and soft, she sounded joyful as she fought with his sister.

"Wow," Arya blinked, "For once I did not see that coming."

Zhalli stopped what she was doing to step forward and hold out her hand. Arya then looked at the hand before grabbing it, but as she did she tugged Zhalli forward her. She then put her feet up and they pushed against Zhalli's abdomen. Robb Stark watched as his wife was thrown over and landed with a loud thump behind his sister. He stepped closer to the fight, watching as his wife suddenly groaned and lay there, staring up at the sky as he moved close.

"Robb," his sister grinned at him slyly. "She's good, no?"

"Very good," he agreed as he made his way to his wife, holding out his hand. "Queen Zhalli."

She blinked slowly, looking at his hand and then looking at him, "Khal Robb." She hesitantly reached up to grasp his hand, "You were watching?"

"Of course I was," he couldn't help but smile at her. "You fight well."

"Thank you," she said as he helped her to her feet. "Will you fight with me one day?"

"Perhaps one day," he studied her as she brushed the dirt off from her. "Would you come for a walk with me?"

"Yes," she then looked to her father. "I will take a walk now, I will see you for training later." She said it in the Common Tongue which was odd, but Robb respected it as he looked to his sister.

"You two go then," Arya had picked up te blade Zhalli had been training with. "I will train with your father instead," Arya then turned to Ifakko, raising a challenging eyebrow.

"You go," Ifakko held out his hand to them. "I will train with Arya Stark." He nodded toward the two of them before unsheathing his sword.

Together, Robb and his wife walked in the small gardens in the palace of Meereen. She wore the clothes of the Dothraki and her hair was braided back, long and almost touching her rear. A nice rear Robb avoided looking at, he was there to get to know his wife rather than take her to the marriage bed again. He watched her as she slowly turned around to face him, hands on her hips as she lifted a brow. She was a beautiful woman, especially in the sunlight as every part of her seemed to glow beautifully when the sun touched her.

"Is there something you needed of me, Khal Robb?" She asked, placing her hands behind her back.

"I wished to get to know my wife," he then told her. "I have realised that I have neglected you when I should have offered you comfort."

"I have no illusions of marriage, Khal Robb," she then told him. "We wed a moon ago, we are not expected to be happy so quickly."

"But I should make an effort," he told her. "As my father once did for my mother, especially to make you comfortable in Westeros."

"We are not in Westeros yet," she reminded him.

"No, we are not," he agreed and then cleared his throat. "But making an effort with you is something I should be doing, no matter what."

"Hm," she let a sly grin cover her face. "Is this your way of asking for me to return to your bed?"

"No," his voice was hard, "But I would not mind."

"Of course you would not mind," she then moved forward. Her hand came to rest on his waist, "Have whores come to visit you?" She then demanded, "Because I will have you know I will kill them and I would dare maim you if you lay with whores."

"It is not unusual for a King to have mistresses," he was neither going to deny nor agree to what she had said. He had no whores, he had no time for them and he was not going to father a bastard.

"Nor for a Khal," she glowered at him. "But I do not share well. I will not have the man I marry keep whores, I will not be a dutiful wife that turns a blind eye. If you wanted one perhaps you should have married a Westerosi _Lady_."

Robb Stark said nothing as he studied his wife who turned away from him, heading further into the gardens. He followed after her, watching as her hair swung in her braided ponytail and she walked with purpose. Robb wondered about his wife and how they would be in future, especially when they came to live in the North. It would be cold, much colder than she had ever experienced and he wondered how she would react. But there was no turning back now, he could not unmarry her and marry a woman from Westeros – he had made his choice.

"I do not regret marrying you," he said and she turned, looking over at him from her shoulder.

"Hm," she pressed her lips together. "I do not regret marrying you either, I am lucky to marry a Khal."

Robb licked his lips and followed after her, "Things will be different in Westeros." He told her as they walked through the gardens, Zhalli led him toward a pond.

"What do you mean?" She frowned at him, brows together as they stopped in front of the pond.

"Westeros… things will not be as they are now," he shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know how to tell you," he straightened his shoulders. "But there will be higher expectations of you, especially from my people and not to mention my mother."

"High expectations of me?" Zhalli suddenly sat down in front of the pond and held out her hand, "Sit, tell me."

Robb did as his wife asked and felt a little better, he was getting to know his wife. He imagined his father would be proud, "You are the wife of the King in the North and it is different there."

"I have been told this many times," she frowned, "But it has not been explained how."

"You will need to wear dresses," it was the first thing that came to Robb's mind. He felt inadequate, so separate from the man he had become. Robb felt as if he was a young man again, the first time he had ever been with a woman – clumsy and unsure of himself. Yet it was different. He was not trying to charm his way into the bed of a lady, instead he was attempting to win over his wife and inform her of his culture and people that was so different from his own.

Zhalli looked down at her legs that were covered in horse fur, "Dresses." She cocked her head to the side, "Like the Khaleesi?"

"No," Daenerys wore loose dresses that looked easy to put on and take off. "Much thicker and much more complicated."

"I do not understand this," Zhalli then frowned. "Dresses will be my only problem?"

"No," Robb hung his head. Was this how his father had felt when he had married his mother? It was so much different to being with a woman he was only spending the night with. Zhalli would be the mother of his children, his Queen – everything was different.

"You are avoiding the question," she narrowed her eyes. "Why are you avoiding answering me?"

"Because it is difficult to explain without being there," he muttered, unable to grow angry with her. He was frustrated with himself, what was wrong with him?

"You must try," she convinced him.

"I was angry with you for taking moon tea," he reminded her and she nodded her head slowly. "Because I am not sure all my men will be happy for me bringing a foreign bride as my Queen, having a child would cement your place as my Queen and my legacy."

"Legacy…" she said the word carefully, "Having an heir is important?"

"Is it not important in a Khalasar?" He frowned at her.

"Y-yes," she suddenly turned from him, head hanging low. "It is very important. I see," she then breathed in deeply. "But I do not wish for a child, not yet. I wish to fight, to fight for the Khaleesi."

"She is not your Khaleesi," Robb was exasperated, "Not now. You're a Khaleesi and you have your own responsibilities," he shook his head. "I don't know how to explain this to you." He then rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Zhalli asked, looking up at him as he stood over her.

"I need to go," he then said.

"Why?" She stood up, reaching over to grasp at his arm.

Robb pulled his arm from her grip, "Because I cannot be around you right now."

"Have I angered you?"

"No," he shook his head. "But I am frustrated. Go back to training, we will talk about this another time."

"Of course," he heard her voice behind him as he turned, storming away from the gardens and away from his wife that didn't seem to _understand_.

Robb Stark found his way back to his rooms, pouring over every single inch of the map. Everything had to be perfect, he wanted his home back and he wanted his family safe. The fighting was tiring, being on the seas was even worse. But he did not regret turning to the seas, had he not he surely would have died and he would have had to place his trust in Lord Walder Frey – which would not have been a smart move. Robb sighed, pouring himself some ale and throwing him back into a seat, a bit of the ale swirling over the top of his glass.

Taking a sip of the hard liquor, Robb leaned forward to fiddle with the unopened letters on his table. Most of them were from allies, demanding his return as Roose Bolton's bastard terrorised the North. One of them was from Cersei Lannister demanding he bend the knee to her bastard – or she'd have his head, he hadn't read it but that was what he assumed. Another letter was in unfamiliar penmanship, it was rather shaky which was odd but Robb grew curious enough to open the letter.

"Rickon," Robb couldn't help but release his brother's name from his lips. The penmanship was awful and he really couldn't spell. Some of the words ran together but the fact it was Rickon's handwriting left Robb feeling… so much better. He folded the letter, Rickon really would need to learn to spell better but his brother just informed him how crazy their mother had become. Robb couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of it, Lady Catelyn – determined to find a match for their cousin Robert. How Robb ached to be with his family, if only for a moment.

But before that could happen he needed to crush the Lannisters, once and for all.

When night fell, Robb Stark took his meal with his friends. He sat between Greatjon and Smalljon, laughing as he drank his ale and watched one of his crew members make a fool of himself by flirting with one of the Dothraki. Robb then bit into a chicken leg, swallowing as he noticed his sister dodge the advances of another Dothraki man and instead moved to sit beside Dacey Mormont who seemed to chase of men effectively, narrowing her eyes and offering a raise brow, moving to completely ignore them.

"That's a beauty," he heard Greatjon say suddenly and Robb looked up at his friend.

"Who?"

"Your wife, that's who," Smalljon suddenly grinned, a cheeky smirk on his face.

Robb frowned as he turned to look in the direction they were staring at. His wife was standing in a dress like the Khaleesi's, hair hanging loosely down her shoulders and she was glaring up at one of the Dothraki men.

"She will give you fine sons," Greatjon sounded sure of himself. "The Dothraki breed many fine people, I may convince one of the women to run off with my son."

His wife suddenly stormed away from the Dothraki she had been talking to, fists by her side and she glowered as she came to a stop in front of his table. Robb rose in his seat and she glared right up at him. He had no idea why she was glaring at him, why it looked as if she would happily press a blade to his back and be done with it. What had he done? Robb found himself rather confused, he found himself crossing his arms over his chest and rocking backward, biting down on his bottom lip.

"Is there a problem?" He asked her and it caused her frown to deepen.

"I do not like this," she picked up the dress with her hands. "I am vulnerable in this, it is hard to hide weapons."

"That is because ladies do not carry weapons," he informed her, in a way that he remembered his mother informing Arya when they had been children.

Zhalli huffed, "That is ridiculous."

"Sit," Robb decided he did not want to argue with her, he forced Smalljon to move down the table and Zhalli sat down, rather ungracefully and she immediately poured herself some ale.

"Why are you celebrating?" His wife asked and he met her eyes, blinking slowly. "What is there to celebrate?"

"King Robb's sister is with child," Greatjon answered casually. "That is enough to celebrate."

"I will congratulate your sister when I see her," she rose and immediately called Arya. "I congratulate you on your pregnancy!" Arya's eyes widened and most heads turned toward the woman who gritted her teeth.

"Not that sister," Robb murmured, feeling a little embarrassed for his sister.

"Oh," Zhalli slipped back into her seat. "You have another?" She then nodded, "She must eat the heart of a stallion, I will advise her."

"Eat the heart of a stallion…?" Robb frowned and Greatjon let out a laugh that came from deep within his belly.

"Lady Sansa eating a stallion heart!"

Robb ignored his bannerman's laughter, "Why would she eat a stallion heart?"

Zhalli blinked slowly, "If she finishes it, the child will be strong and male. If not, the child will be sickly, weak or female." She shrugged her shoulders, "Sons are most desirable."

"That's not how we do things in Westeros," he put his foot down. "We do not need pregnant women to eat creatures' hearts to tell us what the child would be."

"Then how do you know?"

"We wait until the child is born," Robb shrugged his shoulders. "There are no rituals."

"Odd," Zhalli muttered.

"Why are you wearing a dress?" Robb then asked, studying the dress she wore again. It was held up at the neck with a tie and was loose, almost translucent in the fire light.

"Because it was recommended to me," she did not sound happy. "I must follow the example set by my Khal and this is the example," she motioned to herself. "But I do not like it."

"You do not have to like it," Robb took a sip of his ale and couldn't help but laugh as one of his men began to dance.

"That's an odd dance," Zhalli blinked slowly as she watched the man, kicking out his legs and flailing his arms, grinning as he did so.

Robb shrugged his shoulders, "He's from Braavos, was a hired sword but he decided to join my company. He's a bit of an odd character but he gets along with the men and is willing to help me regain my home back, that is all I can request of him."

Watching on as his men danced and drank heavily, Robb turned his head to look at his wife out of the corner of his eye. Her cheeks were flushed from the drink she had consumed and she was leaning forward, elbows on the table and her chin resting in her hands. She watched each of his men closely, studying them and the way they moved. Immediately she looked away and Robb turned to what she had been looking at, he couldn't help but smirk when he noticed one of the whores had joined and one of the men had his hand up her skirts.

Robb then stood and offered a hand to his wife, "Come."

Zhalli frowned at him, "What are you doing?"

"Come," he insisted as she slipped her hand into his. He tugged her to her feet and she fell against his chest, looking up at him. "Do you want to dance?"

"Dance?" She shook her head, "I do not understand your dances."

"I can teach you," Robb led her to the space between the tables that was used for dancing. "Now this is not the most appropriate dance when we were return to Winterfell, but we can do it for now."

Zhalli's hands gripped his hands as the music picked up the pace, as people danced around them. It was the first time Robb saw his wife look unsure, her eyes seemed to widen and she gazed up at him, lips parted. Robb squeezed her hand, attempting to encourage her movements but she only jerked against him and seemed unable to get a feel for the music. She hesitantly looked around dance floor, staring at the women and men who danced around them. She bit down on her bottom look, Robb couldn't help but smile.

"I do not want to do this," she then said, stepping back from him and shaking her head.

"We do not have to dance," Robb then motioned to the table. "Do you want to sit?"

Zhalli pressed her lips together and then grasped his hand, tighter. "I would like to go to bed."

"To try for an heir?" Robb could not help but feel relief.

"Yes," she jerked her head, face betraying no emotion.

"Well, then," he should have told his people that he was heading to his chambers, but instead he decided to only leave with his wife to their chambers.

Zhalli's hand rested in the crook of his elbow as they made their way back to the palace in the centre of Meereen. It would be the first time they would be together since the week after they had married. Robb was not nervous, he was never nervous when it came to women. The only time he was nervous around his wife was whether or not they would get along, if they could have the same marriage his parents had. He looked up at the moonlight as they walked, taking a deep breath as they made their way to the palace.

Once inside their chambers the two of them made their way to the bed, Zhalli already nude. Their touches were a lot less hesitant as they had been on their wedding night, but Zhalli still seemed so unsure on what to do. Robb kissed her, one hand against her cheek and the other tangled in her hair. Their kisses were soft, slow and the two of them pressed themselves closer to each other. He leaned against the pillows as his wife placed her legs on the sides of his thighs, her own hands tangling in his curls and tugging lightly.

"Thank you," Zhalli said quietly, running her fingers over his chest as they slept. "You have the strangest mark on your body," she ran her fingers over the dragon that curled around his side.

"It is a dragon," he then said. "A tattoo."

"Like the Khaleesi's dragon?" Zhalli pressed her lips together, "Why did you get it?"

Robb tensed, "Perhaps I will tell you one day."

"Hm," Zhalli suddenly slipped from the bed.

"Where are you going?" He demanded as his wife dressed herself.

"Out," she then said as she got to the door. "You do not need to worry."


	13. XIII

**Some of you may be unhappy with my characterisation of Margaery which is fair enough. But in this story Margaery has suffered under a decade of abuses, every one of Joffrey's whims she has had to deal with.  
**

 **Because Joffrey was not killed.**

 **Therefore do not get angry with me because of Margaery's characterisation in this chapter, but I promise you I will redeem myself in later chapters when it comes to Margaery's character.**

 **But anyway, I do hope you enjoy this chapter. I will place a trigger warning when it comes to abuse and mentions of rape, as Joffrey is a psycho who enjoys torturing his wife.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

 **XIII**

 **MARGAERY**

 **HER** appearance was barely even recognisable to her anymore. Staring at herself, she reached up a pale, shaking hand to one of her paper-thin cheeks and hitched her breath once again. The door banged open and she flinched but did not turn to the person who entered, she could see them through the mirror. Her husband and the bane of her existence, a man she would happily murder if it did not mean they would know she had done it. Lions prowled the hall in the Red Keep and they had already ruined her, the beautiful rose was wilted.

"Husband," she tried to keep her voice level, turning to him slowly. He strolled forward, dropping his cloak on the back of his chair by the window.

"Wife," he glowered at her back, "What are you doing? Should you not be in bed?"

"Sorry," she gulped, "I am going." She winced, her entire body ached as she made her way back to the bed, crawling under the covers. "Is there a problem?" She stared at the handsome man who held such cruelty.

"My Uncle still defies us," he curled his lip. "I want to march on Casterly Rock to take it back and kill his bitch," he sneered and she shivered in fear. "But Mother forbids it."

"You are King," she reminded him.

"I know," he prowled toward the bend and she tensed.

"I cannot," she then said to him, gripping the sheets tightly. "The Maester does not recommend we spend the night together."

He suddenly glowered at her, "I am King!"

She loathed him, but she kept her lips pressed together. "Apologies, Your Grace," she had learnt over time to be as quiet and agreeable as possible. Any little thing could set him off, she tried to keep him as calm as possible.

"Hm," he pressed his lips together, his hand hovered over her and she flinched. His fingers lightly stroked over her forehead, "Beautiful."

"T-thank you, Your Grace," her voice was hoarse.

"You disappointed me again," he reminded her, a slow, sinister smile growing on his face. "The child is dead and I have no heirs, perhaps I should toss you aside." Her breath hitched, "I could keep you here, marry another woman. Have heirs by her and keep you as my toy," his mouth stretched and her heart pounded in her chest.

He would be able to do it, no one would dare to defy Joffrey Baratheon. He was too powerful, too cruel as he enjoyed executing people who slighted him just a little. He was like the Mad King, only the child of Cersei Lannister and Margaery was sure that it made him worse. She stared into his cruel green eyes, she hated him with a burning passion. She hated how he would charm the young ladies of court, who would blush and stutter at the thought of the King showing interest in them. But they did not know his cruelty, they did not know what a monster he was.

"Hm," Joffrey then gripped her hair and she let out a whimper, feeling him tug at the brown strands. "How disappointing," he then let go of her hair. "I will have a servant sent up to care for you, I think we should have a feast tonight."

"W-we c-can't," her voice faltered as her husband spun slowly, eyes narrowed.

"And who says we cannot, wife?" His words were sharp, she tensed and gripped the sheets even tighter.

"W-we're mourning," she whispered, mouth dry in fear. "We should not hold a feast when we are mourning our child."

"And why not?" He let out a loud, cruel laugh. "You are the one who killed the child again. Why can't I hold a feast? I am King, after all."

"Y-yes," she lowered her gaze from his.

"Then we will hold a feast," he suddenly stalked toward her and her heart pounded. Her eyes widened in horror as his face hovered above her, how she wished someone would kill him. "I hope to see you looking beautiful," he touched her cheek lightly and she flinched. She did not know what was crueller, the times when he was rough or the times he was gentle, pretending to be a gentleman.

"O-of course," she gulped as he left.

Once the door shut, Margaery lay there with her hands still clenching the sheets as she stared up at the vaulted ceiling that showed nothing but beauty. Margaery thought back to all those years ago, when her father had informed her she would marry Prince Joffrey Baratheon and be Queen. She had been so excited, to have all that power in her hands and to rule over Westeros. It had been something that had her overlooking his cruel attitude, she had thought to control him as his mother did.

Oh, how naïve she had been! If Margaery could, she would go back and scream at herself for being such a greedy girl! She would demand her father marry her to the safest man she knew, an oaf she knew would not be able to harm her. Tears gathered in her eyes as her entire body ached. Scars littered her beautiful body, bruises bloomed. She had broken her arm too many times to count, she had fallen down so many stairs that it was difficult to remember how she was put into those situations.

But she knew.

It was him, her monster.

"Your Grace," she heard the muffled voice of a serving girl. "We have arrived with your bath water."

"E-enter!" She called, voice little more than a croak as the door opened. The maids avoided looking at her, they had tended to her after many beatings. They knew better than to comment.

"It is warm, to soothe you," the older woman said, voice soft. Margaery felt tears pricking in her eyes, she hated that the bloody servants pitied her! She was not to be pitied, she was their Queen! But the rage remained boiling just above the surface, it would break one day and that would be the day she plunged a knife through her husband's back.

Letting her clothing slip from her body, Margaery wanted to hunch over in shame as she could feel eyes studying her. Once she had been a great beauty, with unmarred skin. But with her marriage she was no longer as beautiful, her skin was pale and she was too thin, her bones protruded and scars crisscrossed over her back where Joffrey liked to whip her. Margaery never felt uglier when she was standing naked, she hated revealing her body.

"Would you like us to wash your hair?" The kind servant asked from behind her.

"Please," Margaery said softly, her voice hoarse as she stared down into the soapy water. She had no strength to wash herself, she barely had any strength to eat.

"You have beautiful hair," the servant complimented her. Margaery thought it an empty compliment, one that didn't mean anything. Beautiful, what did beautiful mean when she feared for her life every night? Joffrey could kill her if he wanted to, he was King and no one would bat an eye – he would not be punished.

"I am sorry for your loss," another woman said, who was at her feet.

"Bethany," the servant behind her snapped.

"Apologies," the girl ducked her head. She was a new servant.

"You are new," Margaery shifted in tub to get a better look at the girl.

She was very young, very beautiful with bright red hair. Margaery was briefly reminded of Sansa Stark, the girl who had narrowly escaped being married to Joffrey only to be married to the Imp instead. Margaery had not thought of Sansa Stark in a long time, she heard wind of her at times when Cersei Lannister was raging over her youngest brother and his wife. Margaery pursed her lips, she often heard her husband speak of Sansa Stark – how he would like to defile her, to kill her for what she had done to him.

"Yes, Your Grace," the girl twisted a cloth to let the water drip into the tub. "I replaced Lilith."

Margaery turned questioning eyes to the woman behind her, "Was Lilith… used?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the woman pressed her lips together. "She has been sent to Lord Baelish's whore house."

"I hope they were so kind," Margaery had seen many of her servants used, abused and tossed out to the streets in her years.

"Hm," the woman brushed through Margaery's damp, brown curls. "I can only hope she will be safe from further cruelty."

"As do I, Marsha," Margaery pressed her lips together. "What dress will you have me in tonight?"

"Black," Marsha rebelled as much as she could against Margaery's husband – who liked to show her off, as if she was a pretty bauble. "You are still in mourning for your child, it is not appropriate for you to be wearing anything but a dark colour."

"I thank you, Marsha."

* * *

The Great Hall was large, it was filled with bustling people as Queen Margaery entered the hall. Silence fell over the hall, eyes turned to stare at Margaery as she slowly made her way toward the large table where the royal family sat. Joffrey was in the middle seat, sitting tall and laughing as he lifted a wine goblet, speaking to one of his men who were leaning forward to listen to him as he spoke. Margaery felt cold as she was led to her seat beside her husband, between him and his Uncle Jaime.

Placing herself into her seat, her hand shook as a servant leaned over to pour her some wine. She lifted the goblet to her lips, sipping it slowly as she studied the people who stood around the hall. She had been late to the feast, something she was sure she would be punished for much later – for the embarrassment she had caused. Yet she was there, sitting quietly, letting a smile appear on her face as her husband leaned over to take her hand. She tensed, brown eyes immediately drifting to her knife placed beside her plate. It would be so easy… to just grasp it and place it in his neck.

"Queen Margaery," she turned her head slowly to Jaime Lannister who announced her. She looked at the man who had just grown more handsome with age, golden hair that brushed his shoulders only just showing light grey spots. There were worry lines on his forehead and crow's feet around his eyes – but it only served to add to his beauty.

"Ser Jaime," she had always thought it rude for him to sit with them, especially as he was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but Joffrey insisted upon controlling them all.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said quietly, carefully.

"Hm," she pressed her lips together. "Luckily my husband still has heirs."

She thought of Lady Myrcella Martell's children in Dorne, sweet children with dark skin, black hair and dark brown eyes. And Lord Tommen's children, sweet, chubby cheeks angels who were as kind as their father. There were enough children that Joffrey could have his pick of an heir, one that he could raise in his image. It gave Margaery fear, true fear that gripped her and stopped her lungs. It could continue the reign of evil, perhaps worse than the Mad King.

"Yes," her gooduncle mused, "Still, Your Grace, it must be difficult."

"Mm," she hummed as she slowly ate, flinching as she felt Joffrey lay a hand on top of her arm. Her arms were covered in the thick, black sleeves from her dress. The dress had a high neck too, she looked every bit the grieving mother.

"Wife," his voice was tense. "You are wearing black, have we not agreed that black does not suit you?"

"You agreed," she said stiffly. "It is only appropriate that I wear black to show I am mourning the loss of our child."

"But you look best in blues and greens," he smiled at her, nails digging into her arm. She winced, unable to hide her reaction to his cruelty. She hoped no one noticed. "Tomorrow, I expect that you will be wearing the latest fashions. Will you do that for me, Wife?"

He was so cruel, she wanted to move away from him as he lightly touched her cheek in what most could identify as a loving caress if they watched. But it was not, the softness of his hands against her cheek were nothing but a promise of cruelty, a promise of retribution against her defiance. Margaery only let a smile appear on her face, allowing the people of court to believe that she enjoyed her husband's touch. She could feel the envious gazes of women – married and unmarried, they could have him if they wanted.

They were welcome to him.

"Of course," she then said sweetly. "The latest fashions are rather lovely."

"I do agree," he let his hand drift from her face, brushing against the side of her breast. Oh, how she wished for the humiliation to be over. "But I do think some women should not be watching them," his tone was rude, condescending. "Mother, specifically."

His voice was loud enough for others at the table and surrounds to hear, all eyes turned to the Queen Mother Cersei Lannister. There was embarrassment painted on her face, jaw clenched as all eyes turned to the deep plunging neckline that Cersei Lannister wore. For her age, she was still a rather beautiful woman. But Joffrey enjoyed shaming, embarrassing his mother in a way no other son would do. Yet, he did so. Slowly, Joffrey was releasing the shackles that his mother held over him – Cersei Lannister found it difficult to control her son.

"A toast," Ser Jaime Lannister suddenly rose in his seat, "To King Joffrey!"

"To King Joffrey!" The hall echoed.

Margaery mouthed the words, lifting her goblet to her lips and drinking it. The wine was only the best, so it was smooth and went down her throat nicely. It did go straight to her head, where she wanted it. Margaery came to understand why Cersei Lannister enjoyed drink so much, it had been to survive her awful marriage and she had become addicted to the stuff. Which did not seem so bad, if the wine could help her numb any sort of pain she would receive from her husband later – then she would drink it.

"Perhaps you should slow down," Ser Jaime suggested from her side.

"Perhaps you should mind yourself, Ser Jaime," she said quietly. "I am sure my goodmother will request your presence."

It was cruel and so like her, to bring up the fact that Ser Jaime and Cersei Lannister enjoyed fucking each other. It was disgusting, Margaery wished the Lannisters would burn but it was unlikely to happen. She shivered, watching as her husband rose from his seat and made his way to the dancefloor, to dance with one of the young, unmarried maidens from House Lannister. It was a slight against her, she knew it, as her husband flirted with the young woman who blushed prettily. Who would be in his bed, distracting him, until he came tumbling into Margaery's chambers to torture her.

"Of course," Ser Jaime Lannister moved away from her, voice cold as he shut himself off to her.

Not that Margaery minded, alienating her goodfamily was something she enjoyed – it was a little piece of power that her husband could not take from her.

All eyes turned to her as King Joffrey led his distant cousin out of the feast, the girl smiling in delight. Margaery only sipped her wine, hand shaking as a sly smile came over her husband's face. He would ruin the girl, one up her and hope a child came from the union – he would then use it to torture her, to add to her embarrassment. Margaery took a deep breath, closing her eyes as they disappeared through the doors and some of his Kingsguard followed him. Margaery finished the rest of her wine and poured herself some more – she would need it.

"Your husband lives to embarrass you," she heard her grandmother before she saw her. The Queen of Thorns was not often in King's Landing but when she was… she was very vocal about her disapproval of King Joffrey.

"Yes," she pressed her lips together. "Yet it is his right to take mistresses if he pleases."

"Hmph," her grandmother was displeased. "He is a right fool, that one. Your father should have married you to someone better, anyone would have been better!" She then lowered her voice to whisper in Queen Margaery's ear, "Even that wolf would have been better, King Robb or whatever he goes by."

"Grandmother," Margaery said slowly, her eyes darting to Cersei Lannister who watched them suspiciously. "That is treason… if they were to hear you…"

"It does not matter," her grandmother reached out to grasp her hand. "I would kill the shit if I had to."

"You cannot speak of such things," Margaery was very careful with her opinions, she had learned to be. Her grandmother was far from careful, however, which was why she had the name the Queen of Thorns.

"I can speak of what I like," she said stubbornly. "Now, I must retire it is getting quite late."

"Yes," Margaery agreed, "It is rather late, perhaps I should retire myself."

"Excuse me," her grandmother then said to the guard standing behind her.

"Queen Margaery," she turned her head slowly to the man who stood over her. She tensed, nodding as she rose to her feet. "I have been asked to escort you back to your chambers."

"Thank you," she nodded and smoothed her hands down her skirts. "I would like to head to my chambers now, is that suitable?"

"It is," the man allowed her to pass him as she headed to her chambers.

* * *

Margaery's body ached as she slipped from the bed her husband lay upon. She winced as she pressed one foot to the floor, then another as she made an attempt to get away from him. Blood splattered against the ground and she squeezed her eyes shut, body hunched over in an attempt to shield itself from the pain that came from within. Margaery's body shook as she moved, wrapping herself in a long, dressing robe to protect her body from the chill that seemed to be in the room – even though it was high summer, thick humidity in the air.

Wincing, Margaery made her way to the door of her chambers and slowly placed her hand on the door knob. She turned slowly, eyes flickering to her husband who lay naked on their bed and she turned away from him, pushing the door open. It creaked and Margaery pressed her lips together, she did not want to be noticed by him. But it was inevitable he knew she snuck out to bathe, his guards that stood at their door would inform him. They would know of her torture, but they would say nothing as they could not protect her from him.

Slipping into the dark hallway lit by torches, Margaery felt eyes on her as she scurried down the hall. Her immediate destination was the bathing chamber, she needed to wash off the blood and soothe her body, she was aching with every step she took. The royal bathing chamber was down a flight of stairs, Margaery gritted her teeth and held on to the stone wall as she slowly made her way down the steps. Each jerky movement made her want to scream out in pain, but she kept her jaw shut tightly.

Inside the bathing chamber, Margaery let the robe fall from her shoulders and finally let out a small cry of pain. The chamber was dimly lit and she slowly moved to the windows, removing the coverings to allow the full moon inside the chamber. It allowed some light so she could see what she was doing, her eyes were blurred with pain and her entire body ached. Heading to the bath, she let the faucet run and was pleased with the heat of the water, she dipped her toes in and could not help but sigh.

Waiting for the water was tedious, she sat naked at the edge of the bath gazing into the water as it swirled around the gold bath that was buried deep into the ground. Once the water was full, she turned off the faucet and sunk into the near boiling water. It burned her skin, making her pale colouring become a bright red and the bruises on her body became darker. Margaery did not care, she found it just nice that she could feel something as she leaned her head back against the tub. Her head was facing toward the window and she stared up at the moon, cursing the Seven.

Her body still ached, nothing would be able to take away the ache until she swallowed some milk of the poppy after her bath. Margaery sighed and let her hand drop to her stomach, it had become flat again and she rolled over – wishing she could have at least one child that would survive. Yet every single pregnancy resulted in a child that either died in the womb or did not live long enough to receive a name. Margaery was healthy, strong – she did not understand why she was cursed to have her children _die_.

Slowly, Margaery lowered herself further into the water and found herself only with her face above the water. Closing her eyes, she let herself fall beneath the water and opened her eyes as she stared up at the ceiling. The water moved above her, it was a little wild as it continued to swirl around her. Margaery's chest was tight and she wondered what it would be like if she let herself breathe in the water, letting herself die. Pushing herself up from the water, Margaery breathed heavily as she stared up at the moon and gripped the sides of the tub.

Pushing herself up, she groaned as she slipped out of the tub and then bent to let the water drain out. She pulled her robe around her, still dripping wet but uncaring, and made her way toward the window. Taking a deep breath, she leaned herself against the railing and stared out into the night sky. The city was still alive of course, there were lights at the port and lights in much of the city – like Flea Bottom. What Margaery would give to be free, she closed her eyes and inhaled the stench of the city, stomach rolling.

Turning away from the window, Margaery dragged her aching body out of the bathing chamber. Water dripped down from her hair, hitting the stone floor as she headed back to her chambers. He would still be there, he would be sleeping and she hoped he would not stir. Margaery nodded at the guards who opened the door for her and she slid into the room, tensing as she noticed her husband lying on his stomach on the bed. Margaery wished she could take a blade and plunge it through his heart, but she could not do that, not yet.

Margaery fumbled in the dark for her bed side table, she sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the door. There was one of the bottles of milk of the poppy, she opened it and downed some of the liquid quickly. It did not work immediately, she had grown somewhat resistant over time. Margaery could feel it working as she pressed herself into the bed, wrapping the blankets around her and getting as far from the Joffrey as she could. There she could feel herself drifting off, she wished she could drift off forever.


	14. XIV

**Someone said in my last chapter the problem was that Olenna was out of character, which is true. And while I could have had Joffrey die and Cersei be the main villain they needed to overthrow, I didn't want that.**

 **So instead Olenna did not kill Joffrey, did not poison him and has been kept mostly to Highgarden.**

 **But anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

 **Oh yeah, my Aegon is a bit of a dick for a while.**

 **But I have plans for him so...**

* * *

 **XIV**

 **ZHALLI**

 **PLANS** to sail across the sea were slowly developing, coming together. Zhalli was required to sit in meetings about their war against the people of iron. She was Robb Stark's Khaleesi, after all. In those meetings she still felt quite out of place, she did not know what to contribute to the conversation so she would sit quietly beside her husband and keep her mouth shut. She would study everyone who spoke, eyes a little narrowed as she would listen to them even though most of what they said she did not understand. She was not a battle minded individual, and she did not understand Westeros.

"Queen Zhalli," she blinked slowly, a little surprised at the title and the fact it was her Khaleesi addressing her. "Do you have an opinion on the matter?"

Zhalli's mouth opened, what matter? "Apologies," she then said, "I don't think that I know what you're talking about."

There was a flicker of irritation on the Khaleesi's face before she squashed it, "Hm. Then you, King Robb? What is your opinion on the matter?"

Her husband straightened, he glanced down at Zhalli before answering, "I agree, we should sail straight to King's Landing and take it."

There were murmurs of agreement all around the table, Zhalli pressed her lips together as she stared down at the map. She was sitting with King's Landing pointing at her, she then placed her hand down on the map and rubbed her hand over the map. Zhalli then reached over to take a sip of her wine, her eyes then darting to Khal Drogo who sat pensively, staring down at the map also. Khal Drogo did not know much of the invasion, he offered nothing to the table, he kept his mouth shut when they spoke of sailing across the sea.

"I agree," the Khaleesi clenched her hands around her seat, leaning forward.

"Your Grace," a man said carefully, he was much older than them and he appeared to be from Westeros – like every other person in the room. "We need to be careful – the people-"

"I do not want to harm the people, Ser Barristan," Khaleesi spoke coolly, "However, I wish to take back my home. It is time for the Targaryen Dynasty to take back what it is owed."

"Of course," the man cleared his throat. "But how will you do that if the city is nothing but a pile of ash?"

The reason Khaleesi was so successful was because they believed in her, how would she get the belief of the people of Westeros if she killed them? A little unsure, Zhalli opened her mouth to say something but instead kept her mouth shut. What did she know? She had just become a Khaleesi herself, she had not been raised to be a Khaleesi. Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, Zhalli glanced around the table – specifically her husband's people, who all seemed displeased with what the Khaleesi wanted to do to King's Landing.

Silence fell over the table, Zhalli tugged at her dress and looked over at her husband. "Ser Barristan is right," her husband then spoke. "You will not gain the hope of the people if you destroy King's Landing, especially with so many people living in King's Landing."

"Khaleesi," the doors opened and they were interrupted by Daario Naharis and a few of the Unsullied soldiers. "There is someone here to see you."

"They can wait," she frowned.

"No," a voice came from behind them and a man stepped into the room. "I will not wait."

"Who are you?" Khaleesi narrowed her eyes as she studied the man.

The man was tall, and he was handsome. His hair was a light silver colour, almost the same shade as the white-blonde of the Khaleesi's hair. His eyes were narrow, a dark violet colour and he stood tall and proud, several men behind him. There was a sword that hung from a belt at his waist and he wore armour, much like her husband did. Zhalli looked to the Khaleesi who was standing, hands clenched into fists. Khal Drogo stood behind her, a protective shadow as he glowered at the man in front of them.

"Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell," he informed them.

"That's impossible," Robb Stark suddenly stood from his seat, Zhalli frowned up at her husband. "Aegon Targaryen was killed as a babe."

The man's eyes narrowed, "No thanks to people like your father." Her husband seemed ready to berate the man, Zhalli grasped his arm to stop him from doing anything rash. "No, I was swapped with a peasant babe and smuggled out of the city by Lord Jon Connington and Varys."

"Varys," Barristan shook his head. "Khaleesi, what will you do?"

"Do you have any proof?" She narrowed her eyes upon her nephew.

"This is not proof enough for you?" He motioned to his appearance.

"No," she said coolly, "There are many in Lys who have Valyrian features. You could be one of them."

The man's resolve seemed to falter, "I do not have definite proof."

"Then you could be a liar, aiming for my throne," she snarled at him. "Why should I believe you?"

Another man stepped into the fray, looking worn, "Because I was Hand of the King to your father, and your brother's closest friend. I promised I would protect his children, I will forever hold the guilt we could not get to little Princess Rhaenys and Princess Elia on time."

Khaleesi pressed her lips together, "Meeting adjourned." She then snapped, turning to her husband.

Zhalli rose from her seat slowly, following her husband out of the room. "What do we do?" She heard Dacey Mormont asked her husband, "If that man really is Aegon Targaryen…"

"Then there is not much else we can do," her husband then said. "We will support Queen Daenerys and everything will go as we originally planned. Do you understand?"

"Of course," Dacey Mormont pressed her lips together, seemingly displeased.

"What does this man mean to the Khaleesi?" Zhalli asked her husband as they made their way from the room.

"He claims to be her nephew," her husband explained. "But all we know is that Aegon Targaryen was killed when King's Landing was stormed."

"It is not possible he lived?" Zhalli challenged, "He looks a lot like her."

"Yes, but as she said, many in Lys still hold the Valyrian looks," Robb cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I need to head down to the docks to check that the ships will soon be ready to sail."

"Will we be ready to sail?" Greatjon Umber's voice came from behind them, his voice was deep and Zhalli gazed up at the giant man.

"I should hope so," Robb pushed his fingers through his hair. "I need to take back the North and bring my family back together."

Zhalli stared at the back of her husband's head as he walked ahead of her, Greatjon beside him. "What will you do?" She heard someone ask and Zhalli turned her head to look up at Dacey Mormont who is gazing down at her, curious and open. "Will you fight with us to take back the North?"

"Of course I will," Zhalli frowned. "The North will be my home."

And that was that, her future had been set in stone the moment she had been offered as marriage to King Robb Stark of the North in Westeros. Zhalli still had no idea about Westeros, what little education she had was from her father who had not much education himself. She would likely never see the plains she had crossed as a child again, she would perhaps never see Meereen again either. She would be the Khaleesi of the North, a place she had never heard of – it was obscure in her mind, a place quite like the plains she had grown up in.

"Good," Dacey smiled at her, a friendly smile on her face instead. "I hope you will be a good Queen, I can help to teach you how to be a Westerosi Lady. And a Northern Lady."

Zhalli blinked up at her and could not help but smile. Yet still, she found it hard to imagine herself as a lady. She still wore practical, comfortable clothing that she had grown up with – her practical, Dothraki wear. How would they react knowing she only wished to wear trousers? Her light brown, horse skin trousers. Following Dacey Mormont, who wore her own trousers, though they were coloured, Zhalli studied the back of the woman as she strode confidently down the hall.

"You will be a good Queen, when you receive the proper education," Dacey then smiled at her. "I can help you, I may be a warrior but I have been taught the fine arts. I am prepared to teach you."

"Thank you," Zhalli then smiled at her, feeling rather relieved. "I will appreciate all your help you will offer. I want to be the best Queen I can be."

* * *

Rolling over onto her side, Zhalli's eyes opened slightly and she stared out into the bright morning sky. It was bright and she squinted, holding up her hand in front of her. She then rolled over again, looking to the other side of her bed. But there was nobody there, which wasn't unusual as she had not come to her husband's bed since their wedding night, she did not want to be with him when she really did not know who he was. But her father would grow angry if he knew, which was why she spent her nights in her goodsister's chambers, she had no idea where Arya slept.

Pushing herself up, Zhalli let her legs slip out from the blankets and she pressed them to the warm stone floor. She moved toward the window, pressing her hands into the edge as she peered out at the city. It was odd, having a roof over her head that was thick stone rather than the thinness of a tent. Rubbing the side of her neck, she realised she would miss the plains she had grown up on, she had crossed for her Khaleesi – rather than Meereen.

She would cross the seas for her Khaleesi, the dangerous water no Dothraki trusted but they would do it for her. But she would also be doing it for her husband, and for herself, taking back land that belonged to him and avenging his family. Zhalli moved away from the window, turning as she noticed Arya had entered the room. She was so sneaky, so silent and Zhalli hardly ever noticed her. The woman had her arms crossed in front of her, lips pressed together as she tapped on her foot and seemed to wait for Zhalli to say something.

"How is your morning?" Zhalli asked her, quietly.

"Good," Arya then jerked her head to the door. "You should get dressed, we have training to get to."

Zhalli still struggled with a sword, but it just so happened her good sister was more than competent with a sword. She found it easier to learn from Arya rather than her father, "Right."

"I'll be waiting in the armoury," Arya then said as she strode to the door. "Hurry up, I don't have all day to be waiting for you."

"Yes," Zhalli nodded quickly as she hurried to get clothes appropriating for training.

Pulling on tight trousers made from cow skin and a similar shirt, she braided her hair back and slipped on her boots before heading out of Arya's chambers. Her dark eyes studied each of the Dothraki or Unsullied she passed, taking everything in like her father often suggested she did. _It's the greatest way to identify any obvious weakness,_ her father had once told her when she had been a girl no older than twelve. Not, all together, that long ago, but still – she made sure to always recall her father's lessons, he was one of the greatest warriors she knew.

Heading out into the morning warmth, Zhalli turned her head up toward the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the sun warming her and she turned her head, looking toward the training ground where she could already see some of the Dothraki and others already at the training ground. Zhalli turned, heading to the armoury instead of the training ground as that was where she had been requested to visit. Rubbing her hands together, she stepped inside and nodded at one of the Dothraki men who strolled right passed her, spear in his hand.

"Are you ready?" Arya then asked, holding out a sword to Zhalli.

"Yes," she nodded, grasping the hilt of the sword.

"Let's go then," Arya stepped passed her, Zhalli followed her out of the armoury.

"We are practicing with swords today?" Zhalli asked as they made their way out into the training ground, grasping the blunt sword tightly in her hand.

"Yes," Arya answered as she whirled around, "But it will not be with me."

"Then who?" Zhalli's brows lifted, would she be training with her father again?

"Robb," Arya shoved her fingers through her hair. "Robb wants to train with you."

A little surprised, Zhalli followed Arya and she slowed to a stop as her husband stood in front of her. He gripped the sword in his hand, looking out at the sun. His brown hair shimmered red, his skin was rather pale but she thought him painfully handsome in the morning light. Her heart pounded inside her chest, Zhalli felt her palm sweating a little on the hilt of the sword and she gritted her teeth as she forced herself forward. Her husband turned his head slowly, his grey eyes appearing as bright as the ocean in the sunlight.

"Zhalli," he crossed over to her, a small smile on his face.

"Khal Robb," she nodded at him, staring up at him.

"You just need to call me Robb," he requested again, reminding her that she was his equal. "I wanted to train with you, is that acceptable?"

"Yes," she nodded, gripping her sword even tighter. "Are you prepared to train with me?"

"I want to," he then said. "I suggested to Arya that I should test your skill. I have heard rumours, that you are not strong with a sword?"

"It is not my preferred weapon," she then muttered.

"Then I suppose we will have to help you practice," Robb suggested. "I am one of the best swordsmen," it was a confident statement, rather than bragging.

"Is that so?" She arched a brow, holding up her sword. "Is this true?" She then turned to look at Arya who was watching the two of them, arms crossed over her chest.

"I'd say so," Arya offered. "But I can beat him," Arya then flashed a grin at her brother.

"Oh," Zhalli pressed her lips together, nodding her head slowly as she studied her husband. "Should I not learn from Arya, who can defeat you?"

A smile quirked on her husband's face, "Arya has a different skill set to mine. Do you want to train?"

"Yes," she then nodded, "We can train."

Arya then nodded at the two of them, "I'll find someone else to train with." She then pointed to the edge of the training ground, disappearing from their view.

"Are you ready?" The words came as a taunt from her husband's mouth, Zhalli then nodded, grasping the hilt of the sword.

"Yes," she then nodded her head sharply. "I am ready to train with you."

"I will not go easy on you," he then told her.

Zhalli jerked her head, gripping the hilt of the sword as her husband crouched and stepped toward her. He held his own sword, but his grip was not as tight as her own and she pressed her lips together as he swung. She ducked, as she had been taught, coming up as soon as the sword had stopped swinging over her. Her husband was smiling, Zhalli thought it odd as he seemed to want her to carry a child rather than fight with him against his enemies across the sea. So why did he smile?

Puzzled, Zhalli found herself a little distracted and she almost had his sword scratch her cheek. She parried him, lips pressed together and brows furrowed as he stepped back. Zhalli shook her head, she could not let herself get distracted – especially since she wanted to prove that she could protect herself and that she would be an asset as his Khaleesi. No man wanted a weak Queen, one that could not fight for herself. Zhalli straightened her shoulders, narrowing her eyes to make sure that she could fiercely attempt to beat him, even though her sword skills were weak.

Their swords clashed against each other and Zhalli found herself working up a sweat. Her arms were not weakening, but she was feeling quite odd as she tried to beat him. But he was much too good for her, every time she dodged him she would duck and dodge – unable to keep up with the speed and power behind his sword strokes. Biting down on her lip, Zhalli focused on his body, attempting to study his body in an attempt to find any weakness. It was impossible, he seemed to have no weaknesses and she was really struggling against him.

Eventually he overpowered her, she fell against the ground, his sword pointed at her throat. Frowning, she stared up at him as he smiled and he removed the sword away from her. He held out his hand and she stared up at him, his hair seemed to appear redder in the sun and his blue eyes were lit up. He was handsome… painfully handsome. Heart pounding in her chest, Zhalli allowed him to help her to her feet and she listened to his praises, and his constructive criticism. Taking it all in, eyes closing as she found herself a little distracted.

* * *

Zhalli stared at herself, blinking at her reflection that floated in the bowl set up for warriors to wash themselves after training. Her hands were placed on the edge of the stone bowl, her hair was falling loose out of her tie. Some of her hair stuck to her face and neck, due to the sweat she had worked up when fighting with her husband. Blinking slowly, she moved one hand to the water and felt the coolness rush over her. She then placed her other hand in the bowl and cupped the water, letting cupping it to let the water slide over her shoulders.

"You fight very well," she heard her husband compliment and she looked up at him. Water dripped down her skin, a droplet of water sliding down the bridge of her nose. He reached out suddenly and she did not have it within her to back away, he rubbed his thumb against the bridge of her nose, getting rid of the drop of water. "Apologies," he then said, "There was a drop of water."

"It's fine," she then cleared her throat, straightening her shoulders. "Thank you, you are a strong warrior as well. Fit for the position of Khal."

"Thank you," her husband furrowed his dark brows together.

He opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted, "Khaleesi Zhalli," she flinched at the title, blinking slowly as she faced one of the men she had grown up with. "Your father wishes to speak with you."

"Thank you," she then acknowledged him by nodding, a frown on her face as the man walked away. "I must see what my father wants," she then said, before turning away from her husband and leaving to find her father instead. What could he want?

Zhalli found her father standing with a few bloodriders, they spoke in low, hushed tones and she stood at the edge, clearing her throat. "Zhalli," her father mused as he spotted her.

"Father," she straightened her shoulders, tilting her chin up to show him she was not intimidated. "You needed me?"

"I did," he then frowned at her. "I saw your training with your husband. You cannot think he will allow you to fight?"

"I-I," she hated the way her father managed to belittle her. "I assure you that my husband does not dictate my decisions in life, Father."

"Perhaps he should," Ifakko could be very condescending.

"Father, would you have stopped Mother from fighting?" She was tired, he had trained her to be strong – he supported her to fight, he had trained her since she was young. Yet, since she had married he had grown to believe that she needed to provide her husband with a child immediately.

"Yes," her father frowned at her. "Of course I would have. Your mother would not have pushed it either, she would have listened to me. And she did, as soon as she became with child she no longer fought and raided."

"Why do you not speak of her?" Zhalli suddenly challenged, eyebrows pulled together. "I hardly know much of her, you never speak of her. And I cannot speak with her brother, he is our Khal."

Ifakko pressed his lips together, "I don't wish to speak about her. I refuse to speak about her. Do you understand me?"

"No, I don't," she scowled.

"You will, if you grow to love your husband and lose him," her father shook his head. "I need to leave," he then said and hurried away quickly, dodging Zhalli who wanted to ask her father move questions.

Zhalli knew that her father loved her mother, she vaguely remembered watching their loving embraces. She vaguely remembered her mother berating Khal Drogo, who was her older brother, and she remembered Khal Drogo being a better uncle to her. Now he was distant, after her mother had died and Zhalli had been left with her father. Now she felt alone within her family, even having her husband did not improve the feeling of loneliness that seemed to weigh on her heart. Turning her head, she let her hair fall over the front of her shoulders and hurried away from the training ground.

Heading back inside the palace that now houses Zhalli, she wandered through the halls and heard a cry. Pausing, she turned her head and peered into one of the doors to notice Vorsakko, Najaho and their mother sitting together by a water fountain. Daenerys was holding her youngers son, smiling at him as he splashed in the water. Pausing, Zhalli wondered if she should find her husband – or at least distract herself, it was best that she did not bother the Khaleesi. She probably had much on her mind, a family member she had thought dead had risen from the dead.

As she turned to walk away, she heard someone address her, "Zhalli." She then heard someone clear their throat, "Khaleesi, come in." She was a bit surprised at Irri who stepped back to allow Zhalli to pass. She was also surprised at the title, but should she have been surprised?

"Thank you, Irri," Zhalli smiled at her tensely, before her eyes darted to Daenerys. "Khaleesi," she stepped closer.

"Irri spotted you lurking in the doorway," Daenerys smirked a little. "I invited you inside, is there something you wish to speak about?"

"I am… unsure," she murmured softly, rubbing her hands together.

"Come, sit," the Khaleesi urged, motioning beside herself.

Zhalli did as she asked, slowly sitting beside the Khaleesi, "Thank you." Zhalli said to her, smiling at Najaho who was staring up at her, unblinkingly.

"You do not need to thank me, we are equals now," Khaleesi bounced her son slightly. "And you are family."

"Yes," Zhalli said slowly. "Khal Drogo is the brother to my mother." Zhalli furrowed her brows, "Has he ever spoken of my mother?"

"It is not often that he speaks of his family," Daenerys admitted, smoothing out Najaho's hair as Vorsakko continued to play naked in the fountain.

"My father is the same," Zhalli frowned as she looked down at her hands. "I am… conflicted."

"Why so?" Daenerys allowed one of the women to take Najaho from her as she urged Vorsakko out of the fountain.

"I do not wish for a child, not yet," she admitted. "I take moon tea, a Westeros medicine to stop pregnancy. But I…" she frowned. "Father says I should give my husband an heir as soon as possible, especially as he is a Khal and it is important should he fall in battle. And he does not want me to fight."

"I cannot tell you what to do," the Khaleesi then said as she helped Vorsakko dress. Zhalli's thoughts turned when to when she had seen the child stick his hand inside the fire and it had not burned. "But it should be something you discuss with your husband."

"I have tried," Zhalli was getting frustrated. "He would rather me not take moon tea. But I must fight, I must take back his land for him."

Khaleesi had a smile upon her face, "That is a noble decision, Khaleesi Zhalli." Daenerys reached out to part Zhalli's hand that rested on the edge of the fountain.

"Yes," her shoulders slumped. "But I am not sure they see it that way. Father thinks I am being selfish. Perhaps I am. Is it not the job of a Khaleesi to give a child to her Khal?"

"It is her job," Daenerys said carefully. "But that does not mean it is her only job. Do not take the moon tea," Daenerys then suggested. "If you are lucky the Great Stallion will prevent you from having a child until your Khal has his lands back."

"I hope so," Zhalli still appeared conflicted.

"What else is on your mind?" Khaleesi asked as they watched her children be led away.

"I find myself thinking of my mother," Zhalli admitted, staring down at the water and she began to drag her fingers along the surface of the water. "I hardly know of her and it bothers me."

"I understand," Daenerys mused. "But did you not have her in your life as a child?"

"I just, wish I knew more," Zhalli rubbed the back of her neck. "I would speak to Khal Drogo if I was sure that he would provide me with answers… but he will not, will he?"

"I cannot tell you," the Khaleesi frowned. "He does not like to speak of his family."

"My father is the same," Zhalli's shoulders slumped before she finally asked something she had been wanting to know. "Why was I chosen to marry Khal Robb?"

"We did not have much of a choice," Daenerys admitted. "I was told to make it quick and an offer he could not refuse. I was told to use the daughter of one of my wealthy allies that I have found here in Meereen, or even our allies in Dorne in Westeros. But I did not choose them."

"Why?"

"Because you are a member of my family, my house," Daenerys pursed her lips. "And I do not have much family, I never have." There was a deep sadness in her eyes, "I would rather you marry a foreign King, where I know that you will be loyal to me rather than an ally in Dorne or one of the nobles in Meereen that I am not sure I trust."

"Ah," Zhalli nodded slowly at the explanation.

"Does that help?"

"I don't know." Zhalli looked down at the water, "I really don't know."


	15. XV

**Guess who forgot to update again? This girl! Ayy, I am the worst.**

 **Also thanks for the reviews and stuff, I've been working on chaps but it's been slow and stuff cause yeah.**

 **I have no excuses, I don't go back to uni until the end of Feb.**

 **I'm just trash at updating so, sorry about that.**

 **Anyway enjoy the chapter xx**

* * *

 **XV**

 **ROBB**

 **GREY** Wind lay at his feet, the wolf seemed to be eyeing his wife as she paced in front of him. Robb was watching her too as she seemed to stop in the middle of the room only to turn back to look at the map of Westeros that lay atop the table in their room. What was she doing? Robb wondered as he stepped over his direwolf and slowly made his way toward the table, laying his hands flat on the map as he gazed at his wife. She stopped what she was doing to look up and meet his gaze.

"What are you doing?" He asked her softly.

"Westeros is large," she then said. "How will we take it?"

"Easy enough," he then looked down at the map. "What is on your mind?" It had to be something.

"I am thinking of my mother," she then answered. "She was sister to Khal Drogo."

"I did not know that," he hadn't, perhaps that was why he was married to Zhalli rather than someone else. "They do not speak of her."

"My father refuses," she admitted. "And I am not close enough to my uncle to ask him questions of my mother."

"Do you remember her?"

"I remember pieces of her," Zhalli rubbed her hands together. "I remember her scent and how it comforted me, how I would awaken in the night and she would be there to wrap her arms around me. I remember her hair and how it is much like mine," she reached up to run her fingers through her hair. "I remember how much she loved us, how much she loved my father."

"I hardly remember my father and I had him much longer than you had your mother," Robb did not consider how insensitive his words were.

"I know," her voice was soft, she was quiet as she slowly lowered herself to a chair.

"It is loss," he then said, "They have become a memory to us, a fond memory."

Zhalli frowned, "I do not want her to be a memory. I want to know more, but father refuses to speak of her." She then shook her head, "Apologies, husband, I am lost in my thoughts."

"I see you train with my sister often," he decided to change the subject. "It is encouraging that you get along well with my sister and my people."

It was important that his wife would be a beloved Queen, she was foreign and the North was not known for liking foreigners. And his wife was so different, a savage Dothraki that had a very different culture compared to his own. If she was loved she would fit in seamlessly with his people, which was why Robb was warming to the idea of her fighting among his men. Whilst women were not necessarily fighters in his eyes, if she did fight it would prove that she held love for the North in a way the Queen of the North should.

"We set sail soon," she murmured, speaking mostly to herself. "It will be a long journey, yes?"

"Yes," he nodded his head slowly. "Just over a turn of the moon," he hated sailing from Westeros to Essos, it was even worse when sailing to the North as the seas grew rougher.

"I do not wish to ride the sea," she then said, a frown on her face. "I do not trust the sea. It is dangerous."

"Well, you cannot fly," Robb was really cracking a joke, as he doubted the dragons would let anyone but their mistress and her family close to them.

His wife pulled a face, "I do not trust the creatures that the Khaleesi keeps close to her." She then suspiciously gazed at the direwolf beside his feet, she did not move closer as she seemed wary of Grey Wind.

Grey Wind was an impressive beast, shoulders meeting Robb's hips when the direwolf was on all paws. He was lean, his strength in his movement as he was known to attack along side Robb in battle. His fur was the colour of smoke, almost black when it was night, yet his fur had grown more silver over time as he aged. His eyes were that of a bright yellow, a vibrant yellow that challenged prey and watched movements carefully. Grey Wind complimented Robb Stark and Robb Stark complimented Grey Wind, now one could not live without the other.

"Grey Wind will not harm you," Robb spoke softly as his direwolf lifted his head, considering Robb's wife.

"I do not trust him," Zhalli shook her head.

"And he does not trust you," Robb then muttered, "But if you were to grow to trust each other it would be much less of a strain on our marriage."

His wife eyed him, her mouth opened but was interrupted by a knocking on the door. Both turned their heads as Missandei stepped into the room, "Your Grace." The woman acknowledged them both. "The Khaleesi has made a request for your presence, King Robb."

"I will be with her in a moment," Robb rose to his feet from the lounge he had been seated upon. He then placed his wine on the table beside him. His days spent in Meereen were mostly spent plotting or lazing about, Robb did not enjoy when he did nothing. Which was why the needed to set sail as soon as possible.

"I am not to come?" Zhalli frowned at Missandei.

"She requested specifically for King Robb," Missandei was unapologetic as she expectantly turned to gaze at Robb.

"Yes, well," Robb smoothed out his tunic. "Excuse me, I will not be long," he told his wife, he then reached down to run his hand over the soft fur of Grey Wind's fur and turned to face Missandei. "It is time that you take me to see your Queen."

"Of course, Your Grace," Missandei then turned on her heel to disappear through the doorway, Robb following her.

Missandei was tall and lithe, she walked with a purpose and he found himself thinking of a cat. The woman who was close to Queen Daenerys almost reminded him of his sister, Arya, all knowing and shrewd. Robb Stark came to respect Missandei, the way she seemed to watch everyone for the slightest hint of something suspicious – it did remind him of Arya. It had him thinking, in his mind, that he would have Arya play a much more important role when it came to the North. One that would allow her to use her skills, and not trap her the way she feared.

"May I know why she requested my presence?" Robb asked as soon as they were further away from his chambers.

"A letter has arrived, one with serious implications," Missandei's mouth was pressed together, but she showed no other emotion. "And Queen Daenerys wishes to get to know her nephew better, and would like you to know him also."

"This Aegon character," Robb was still unsure whether he was the true Aegon. Many people in Essos had the blood of Old Valyria, many in Lys appeared to be Targaryens. "He will not appreciate his aunt being the Queen of Westeros, or me having the North."

"No, I do not believe so," Missandei then lowered her voice. "He will be disposed of, if he becomes a threat. I am sure you can agree?"

"Yes," because it was more important for him to have the North, for it to be independent. Foreign rulers would have no control over the North. His children would marry Northerners, even if he could not.

"Good," Missandei then stepped aside to allow Robb to walk into the solar where their battle plans were drawn up ahead of her. "Because the Khaleesi does not take lightly to threats."

As Robb entered, his eyes swept over the people in the room. Ser Barristan Selmy who stood tall and proud, even though he was much older. He had a hand to the sword on his belt and stood behind Daenerys Targaryen, watching for any sort of threat to the woman he had pledged his loyalty to. His eyes seemed to sweep over the man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen, watching him closely and for any sign of suspicion. Ser Barristan's eyes then turned to Robb, still holding suspicion but he nodded in favour of Robb who nodded back.

Robb's eyes then turned to Khal Drogo who stood by his wife, openly glowering at Aegon Targaryen, body angled to support his intimidation. Khal Drogo's chest was bare, but for the blue paint that was also around his eyes. His long hair was braided and beaded, hanging over the front of his shoulder as he made himself appear larger and more intimidating – which was not hard. The man seemed protective of his little wife as he stood close to her, hands closed into tight fists as he waited for the inevitability of an argument. He hoped to crush Aegon Targaryen, Robb guessed.

Then Robb's eyes swept over Daenerys who was seated at the head of the table, only her torso and head could be seen from above the table. She wore a long, light blue coloured dress which complimented her more than any other colour. Her hair was braided but some curls were left loose, her eyes seemed to study Aegon Targaryen with deep emotion that Robb could not place. She breathed in deeply and quickly as Missandei made her way around the table, bending down to whisper in her Khaleesi's ear as Daenerys's eyes turned to Robb Stark.

"King Robb," Daenerys held out her hand and his eyes swept over the table. "Please, take a seat."

"I would prefer to stand," he told her, as his eyes turned to the man who held tight to his claim that he was Aegon Targaryen.

The man was tall, taller than Robb and lean. He did not have the same strength Robb or Drogo had, one that spoke of battle and men that were built to fight. This man was built to be an assassin, while he still had some muscle he appeared more agile than strong. He did not wear the finest of silks, instead he wore blank trousers and a black tunic, reminding Robb of his own wears. The man had skin that was a light bronze colour, much paler than the Dothraki – like that of a pale Dornishman.

His hair was shoulder length, like Robb's, but instead of the curls Robb had his hair was straight. And it was pale blonde-silver, startling and strangely beautiful as the light caught it and almost made his hair shimmer. The man had a strong jawline and Targaryen features – the high cheekbones, the bow lips and the prominent, dark brows. What was really startling were his violet eyes that seemed to watch Daenerys Targaryen, studying her as she studied him.

"There has been a letter that has arrived," Daenerys then addressed Robb. "And there is a letter for you."

"What does this letter say?" Robb accepted his unopened letter, but was more concerned with the letter Daenerys spoke of.

"There is a threat against all of our lives," Daenerys then leaned back in her seat. "We should come to expect it, however, this letter personally outlined your Queen. It appears word has spread to Westeros that King Robb Stark has married a Dothraki whore, in the words of the writer."

"And do you know who wrote it?" Robb tensed, was it one of his men?

"Cersei Lannister, of course," there was a scowl on Daenerys's face. "They will send assassins after your wife, and there is a threat that any children that come from you both will die before they leave her womb."

"A serious threat," Robb said carefully.

"Yes, I believe it is," Daenerys cleared her throat. "But we will deal with such a thing, your sister has offered her services to watch your wife closely to make sure Cersei's assassins will not achieve their threat."

"Good," Robb thought that Arya had grown to like his wife. "Was anything else mentioned?"

"No," Daenerys shook her head. "Yet, we were waiting for you to open this letter." She motioned to the letter in his hand. Robb did as she requested, opening the letter.

 _Dear Robb,_

 _Is it not time you come home? Mother's letters grow more frantic, she demands you return home and Uncle Edmure says she almost lost it when we learnt of your Dothraki bride. We need you Robb, it appears that the Starks were never meant to be parted. I can almost imagine Father, watching over us in disappointment over our choices._

 _But this is what the Old Gods had in store for us, Father could not have prevented it had he tried._

 _The babe in my belly quickens, I am much larger than mother ever was. The Maester has claimed twins, yet I cannot be so surprised by the news as my husband's family has a history of twins. I grow worried, whilst Mother never had trouble carrying a child it does not mean that I will not have trouble. Tyrion and the Maester want me confined to my chambers already, but I do not wish for such a thing._

 _I am rambling, perhaps you are not interested in knowing of my pregnancy. But there is not much else to tell you, Casterly Rock is beautiful and we keep away from politics. Yet Tyrion receives word every day, threats from Cersei who demands we bend the knee to her and that my husband is brought to punishment. But it will not happen, it is why we need you home, Robb._

 _Love,_

 _Sansa_

"So?" Daenerys's brow rose as he looked up from the letter.

"It was news from my sister," he then said, "She has informed me of the progress of her pregnancy and our mother."

"Oh," there was clear disappointment in Daenerys's face. "Then there is something else we must discuss."

All eyes turned to Aegon who straightened his shoulders, "I came alone as you requested."

"I know, and I appreciate what you have done," Daenerys rolled back her shoulders. "But how do we know that you are the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell? As King Robb said, Prince Aegon Targaryen was murdered in the Red Keep as a babe."

"Lord Varys succeeded in smuggling me out," Aegon sounded proud.

"It seems he did," Daenerys leaned back in her seat. "I suppose if it is true, fire cannot kill a dragon," she then motioned for one of her servants to step forward with a candle. "Yet fire killed my brother, however, Viserys carried madness in him passed down from our father."

"You want me to prove my blood?" His eyes darted toward the candle.

"Yes," she was adamant. "If you are a true Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar, you will not burn."

"Jon never allowed me near fire," he muttered as he watched the flame dance.

"Then we shall see."

They watched, all leaning forward to get a better look as the man reached his hand out. It was a quick process, his hand come to rest over the candle and the servant immediately moved the candle up. The man did not scream, he did not flinch as he stared unblinkingly at the flame that was flickering against the palm of his hand. The man let out a loud laugh, it was relief as he pulled his hand back and gazed down at his hand that showed no sign of ever being placed in a flame.

"You are Aegon Targaryen," Ser Barristan Selmy said, staring at him in amazement.

Now the problem was the line, who was the true heir? Rhaegar's true heir was Aegon Targaryen, he was the first-born son therefore the throne was always prepared to go to him. Yet, Daenerys had claimed the Iron Throne for herself yet she was second in line. Her son, Rhaego, could even be considered Aegon's heir. Robb waited, hands clenched to fists by his sides as he waited for Daenerys to react. She rose to her feet slowly, ignoring Drogo who offered her his arm.

"It is clear, you are my nephew," her shoulders shook.

"I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne," there was steel in Aegon's voice.

"That may be so," Daenerys Targaryen's voice was careful. "But I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons."

The room was quiet after Daenerys boasted her title, "Then it seems we have hit an impasse." Aegon's voice was cool, "For I will surely not relinquish my claim and I gather you will also not relinquish your claim."

There was tension in the room, Robb watched as the two Targaryens wared each other in their minds. In the line of succession Aegon came first, he was the heir of Rhaegar Targaryen and a man. Daenerys would never have been given the throne, she would have been married off to a noble lord in Westeros or she would have been married to her nephew. Robb found the practice of incest barbaric, he thought the Targaryens foolish for believing themselves so pure that it made them all mad in the end. Mad enough to burn innocents to death.

"It is a shame you cannot marry," Ser Barristan Selmy then said, casting a wary glance to Khal Drogo. The horse lord appeared angered at the words of the knight. "That would solve matters of legitimacy and who is the rightful heir."

"We know who the rightful heir is," Aegon glowered at the man.

"Yes, well," Ser Barristan paled and he avoided looking at Aegon who appeared very much a dragon. Was he mad? Robb came to wonder, or with a Dornish mother had he been saved from the madness that plagued his family? Robb remained unsure.

"You are excused," Daenerys then waved her hand. She then placed her hands on the arm rests of her chair and pushed herself up.

The room dispersed, Daenerys and Khal Drogo left together. Ser Barristan and Missandei followed close behind, leaving Robb with Aegon Targaryen.

"You are a Stark," were the first words out of the Targaryen's lips. They were words of suspicion, words of distrust. They also held deeper meaning, knowledge that Aegon knew the history between the Starks and the Targaryens – how his father had run off with Lyanna Stark, letting Westeros pay a blood price.

A price they were still paying.

"Indeed I am," Robb watched the older man. "And you are a Targaryen."

"Not the last," Aegon's violet eyes swept to the door Daenerys had disappeared through. "Never the last."

"You want the Iron Throne."

"Of course," Aegon's voice was hard, "It belongs to me."

"As the North belongs to me," Robb was making it clear. No matter who became the monarch, they would only have six kingdoms. The North would remain free.

"That is your demand?" Aegon studied Robb, "The North remains independent from the rest of Westeros?"

"Torrhen Stark made a mistake all those years ago when he bent the knee," Robb's voice was cool. "I wish to restore the North."

"As I wish to restore Westeros."

"I will not betray your aunt for you," Robb then said. "I have honour and I am not an oath breaker. I will see to it that she is placed on the Iron Throne."

"You would have another Dance of Dragons?" Aegon's voice was hard, a loud demand.

"I do not see how it can be when she has three dragons, whilst you have none," it was not a taunt. Robb would never taunt, he only used honesty to make his point.

"That is true," there was a deep emotion in Aegon's voice that Robb could not place. "There are more dragons out there."

"I'm sure," Robb then looked to the door. "Excuse me, Prince Aegon."

Robb left the man alone, he decided to head to his chambers to check whether or not his wife was still there. He nodded at some of the servants and Unsullied as he passed. He came to the doors of his chambers and entered, smiling as Grey Wind picked himself up from the ground and padded over to Robb. The wold rubbed himself against Robb's body and he reached down, running his fingers over the head of his direwolf.

"You are back," Zhalli had been resting on the bed, she looked right at him. "What happened?"

"There is a threat against your life," he then said.

"I am not surprised," she was unaffected by the news. "There was an assassin sent, they only came to warn me that I am not safe from Cersei Lannister."

"And you did not think to tell me?" Robb demanded of his wife who swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"What would telling you achieve?" Zhalli shrugged her shoulders, "It is clear that they would want me dead. I am your wife."

Robb clenched his hands into fists, "Communication is important. If you do not tell me things, how will this marriage work?"

She faltered a little, "Then you can begin by telling me of what else happened in the meeting."

"I received word from my sister," his voice became quiet. "I have received updates on my family, she wants us home."

"You must write a letter," his wife urged. "Soon we will sail, and you will once again see your family."

"I know," he smiled at her softly. "And there was a discussion over succession, whether Daenerys or Aegon would give in to each other."

"Did they?"

"No," Robb shook his head. "Queen Daenerys will not give up her crown, neither will Prince Aegon. They are at a stalemate, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately," Zhalli echoed. "He should kneel to the Khaleesi, she has dragons and has become the most powerful Khaleesi known. Stories will be passed around, from generation to generation."

"I cannot disagree with you," Robb was careful. "But in the line of succession, Aegon is technically first in line as he is male, and his father was heir. The Khaleesi's children would come before her, as they would be his heirs before he has children of his own."

Zhalli blinked, "Of course. The male line comes before the female."

"Exactly," Robb was a little relieved she understood. "Just as my sister Sansa cannot inherit, unless all our brothers are dead. And even my bastard brother could most likely inherit before Sansa, that is the way in the North."

"If our child is a daughter, she will not inherit," Zhalli muttered. But it still made sense, as she had grown up in the Khalasar where only a male could be Khal.

"No," Robb shook his head. "It is most important that our first child is a male, therefore he can legitimise our reign as King and Queen in the North."

Zhalli blinked owlishly, "A child is frightening. I will not be able to fight for the North if I become with child."

"No, you will not," he echoed. "But carrying the heir is more important than fighting for the throne."

His wife remained unsure, it showed clearly on her face, "Is there anymore news that I should know about?"

"No," he shook his head. "There was no more news."

"I have no news," she then said. "I have remained in these chambers, unable to get to the door because every time I would more your… your… _beast_ would rumble." She stared at Grey Wind in fright and Robb could not help but smile. "Why do you smile?"

"Grey Wind would not harm you, wife," Robb then told her, offering up his hand. "He would never hurt you."

"How can you be so sure?" She studied Grey Wind suspiciously, watching the creature as he seemed to study Zhalli also with bright, yellow eyes.

"Come," her urged, holding out his hand to her. Hesitantly, Zhalli stared at his outstretched hand before slipping her fingers into his. They both had calloused hands from days training with swords, neither of them were delicate creatures. But that was what the North needed, they did not need delicacy at a time where the North was being ripped apart by the cruelty of the Lannisters and the Boltons. The North would need a harsh, strong King and Queen to repair the damage and help the North to thrive once more, even in the cold, harshness of winter that would soon be upon them.

With her hand in his, Zhalli followed Robb as he pulled her from around the side of the bed and then to stand in front of Grey Wind. She flinched as the wolf looked at her, and Robb turned to study his wife who steeled herself. Grey Wind began to growl, his chest rumbling as Robb frowned down at his direwolf that studied his wife with deep suspicion. Why so suspicious? Perhaps it was because Robb and Zhalli were not close to one another, Robb could only hope that Grey Wind did not frighten her more.

"Here," Robb Stark's voice was soft as he placed his free hand on top of Grey Wind's head to steady him. He then used the hand holding Zhalli's to place her hand on top of the direwolf. "He will not hurt you."

"His fur is soft," his wife whispered as her hand slid from his, her fingers coming to run through Grey Wind's fur.

"Yes," Robb kept his voice low as he watched her hand pet Grey Wind softly. "He is not a dangerous beast, only to those that wish to seek harm unto me."

"Much like Khaleesi's dragons," Zhalli then said.

"Yes, much like that." Robb agreed, "And he is the sigil of my house."

"House sigil," Zhalli muttered. "Like that of the banners that hang in the palace?"

"Yes," Robb then nodded. "But my house does not have dragons, we have the direwolf."

"Perhaps it is fitting," she said as she grew more relaxed and comfortable, as did Grey Wind. "I look forward to setting sail," she then said. "I wish to crush those men in iron for you and the Khaleesi."

"Thank you," Robb then said as he found himself studying his wife, watching her as she watched Grey Wind.

She was not the wife his mother would have chosen for him, or his father. But she was the one he needed, she was the one the Old Gods had chosen for him. While she only came to his shoulder, she was fierce with bones of steel as she prepared herself to readily jump into any fight she came across. She would be a good Queen, a strong Queen that would benefit the North in ways it had not benefited. Robb came to the decision to stop fighting his marriage, to no longer grow bothered that she took moon tea. He could wait for an heir.

He had a wife to understand instead.


	16. XVI

**So I start uni back on Monday and I am so excited, I'm very keen for this year.**

 **Also I want to thank everyone for the reviews I have received, it means a lot and I hope you are all enjoying this story.**

 **That means a lot to me too.**

 **I hope you enjoy this Aegon chapter, I've made him a bit of a brat to redeem his character.**

 **If you have a problem with it I don't know what to tell you, man.**

 **It's an AU.**

* * *

 **XVI**

 **AEGON**

 **"SHE** will not relinquish her claim," Aegon told the man who had raised him, entering his chambers.

Jon Connington looked up from the map of Westeros, "Hm."

"We knew she would not," a soft voice came from the corner of the room. Both men turned to the woman clad in robes of a Septa as she stared out the window. "She fancies herself Queen, but has given one of her kingdoms to that Stark."

"He will not betray her," Aegon then said. "He told me so himself."

"Starks are nothing but honourable, men who stick to their vows," her voice was hollow, distant.

"Yes," Aegon watched Septa Lemore as she made her way toward them. "I do not think we will find any allies here."

"The dragon has three heads," Connington then said from his position by the map. "That is what your father used to say, he would whisper it in his sleep."

"But what does it mean?" Aegon was growing frustrated with talk of his father and prophecies. He did not care for them, he was not his father and he did not care for the prophecy his father had once lost his mind over all those years ago.

"I do not know," a deep frown settled into Connington's face. Yet there always seemed to be a frown there, there was nothing but lines that showed weariness from his life. "I could never get a word out from your father."

"Perhaps three dragons must rule," Lemore then said. Her eyes flickered over them, "As Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya once did. Perhaps that will restore Westeros to as they once were."

"But there is only Daenerys and I," Aegon frowned. "My sister is long dead as is Viserys, how can there be three when there are only two dragons left alive?"

"Daenerys has three," Connington then spoke up.

"They are not true dragons," Aegon protested.

"But does that make you not a true dragon?" Lemore was haunting, all knowing as she stared at them. "Your mother was Dornish. By that logic Daenerys would be the only true dragon alive, she comes from two dragons. You are the sun and the dragon; those children are horses and dragons."

"It is rather frustrating," Connington spoke up. "I wish your father had confided in me before he had passed. Perhaps we would not be stumbling around blind, we would know what to do."

Aegon crossed his arms over his chest and moved toward the window, staring out at the city of Meereen. While he had been surviving, his only living relative had become Queen in her own right and had made a name for herself. She was a conqueror, like their ancestors before them. They were right, she was a true Queen and she had the dragons to prove it. Aegon pressed his lips together, unsure how to move forward. He was not about to kneel to her, he was not about to lose his birth right to his aunt who would never had claim had things gone the way they were supposed to.

"If only she was not married to the horse lord," Connington spoke up from behind Aegon. "Then the two of you could marry, it would solve problems of who would be ruler."

"I do not think I could marry her," Aegon then pulled a face. "I believe that we would end up destroying one another."

"I believe you are correct," Lemore spoke up. "You are both too much of a dragon to ever submit to one another. It is why the Dothraki horse lord compliments her so well."

"Yes," Aegon blinked slowly. "She will want her son to be her heir."

"Which is fair enough," Lemore was always the voice of reason. "However, if you were to have your own child. A girl. Perhaps a marriage between your aunt's eldest son and your daughter could strengthen the Targaryen house. Perhaps it could ensure both of your lines are secured."

"And where would I find a wife?" Aegon placed his hands on his lips, glowering at the two of them.

"I would not suggest this to your aunt," Connington then said. "She would have you married off to a Dothraki as she did with Robb Stark."

"Hm," Aegon pulled a face. "I can imagine that would anger the North."

"I believe they will be furious with a foreign Queen," Connington agreed. "But I suppose she is doing all she can to win their favour."

"I need to win my aunt's favour," Aegon then said. "But how would I go about that?"

"I am unsure," Connington pressed his lips together. "She is nothing like your father, and I do believe as you are a threat to her throne it will take you a long while until you are able to win her favour."

"Perhaps you should start with those around her, Ser Barristan Selmy would be a good option," Lemore suggested. "He will remember your father and your mother, perhaps you could ask him for stories?"

"That would be a good idea," Connington straightened. "If everyone around Daenerys begins to trust you, it will be inevitable that she will also come to trust you."

"And how will I get close to them?" Aegon asked them suddenly, "Would she not have warned them away from me?"

"I suppose you will just have to find out," Lemore smiled up at him. "You must not give up."

"I will not," he then straightened his shoulders. "Perhaps I should also start with Robb Stark."

"That is a good idea," Lemore muttered. "Whilst the Stark King has managed to earn the trust of Daenerys, there is still much tension between the Starks and Targaryens."

"I can hardly be blamed for the selfishness of my father, or my grandfather's evil," Aegon glowered at the Septa for the first time in his entire life. She had been a mother to him, but he was sick of the blame that was placed on him for everything the Targaryens did before him.

"No, it is not your fault," Lemore agreed. "The sins of the father do not belong to the child, however, that does not mean they forget. And the North remembers, as they say."

"The North remembers," Aegon repeated, muttering what Lemore had said. "The North remembers. I remember."

"Everyone remembers," Connington scoffed. "The Usurper's rebellion cannot be forgotten, it cannot be forgotten how the realm bled."

"Because my father could not control himself," Aegon clenched his hands into fists. "I am not my father, I will never be my father. I refuse to ever be my father."

"It seems there is hope that there is more of your mother in you," Connington then spoke up, a little bit of disappointment in his voice. "There is much to be done, especially if we are to win the trust of Daenerys Targaryen."

"We should begin now," Lemore then assured him. "Winning her trust and repairing the Targaryen dynasty is important."

"Hm," Aegon reached out, tapping his fingers on the window sill as the dragons flew overhead. He watched them, "Do you think that the dragons all belong to her?"

"What do you mean?" Lemore asked from behind him.

"She cannot be the dragon rider to all of them," his voice was quiet. "One of them must be mine."

"You will have to bond with one of them," Connington muttered. "Then you will be able to win back her full trust."

"She may grow angered if you steal one of them from her," Lemore said quietly. "I am sure she is keeping the dragons for when her sons come of age."

"I am sure the dragons will be able to lay eggs," Aegon then frowned.

"They're all males," Lemore shook her head. "They are the last of their kind, and unable to carry on their line."

"How ominous," Aegon then said. "Almost poetic, though my aunt has managed to carry on her own line."

"That is true," Connington grumbled. "She has been successful, three sons. The Khal must be pleased."

"Excuse me," Aegon then said. "I would like to have a few moments alone to myself."

"Of course," Lemore then looked to Jon Connington. "Come, Jon, we must leave the Prince to himself."

"If you insist," Connington then studied Aegon. "I will try to find as much information as I can to further help you."

"Thank you, Jon, Lemore," he then nodded at the two of them as they left.

Aegon then placed his hands on the window sill, leaning further out the window as the dragons flew around the city. He found them nothing but amazing, simply beautiful beasts. He felt a connection, he could feel something urging him to find the dragons and to get closer to them. One of the dragons, the largest, let out a screech and black flame came from his mouth. Aegon stumbled back, simply amazed at the creature that belonged to his family. He wanted that one, he decided that he would get that dragon.

* * *

Outside, Aegon came to the training ground where most of the Dothraki spent their day. He came to the edge, crossing his hands over his chest as he watched the Dothraki who fought savagely against each other. He thought the Dothraki beasts, ready to murder at the slightest order of their Khaleesi. His eyes ran over them, noticing that a lot of them turned to gaze at him – somewhat suspicious. Did they know he was a threat to the reign of their Khaleesi? He almost liked being seen as a threat, it gave him a power he had not had before.

"You are the nephew of the Khaleesi," Aegon turned his head to an accented voice.

"Yes," he then turned to study the man who spoke to him. "And who are you?"

"Ifakko, one of the bloodriders of Khal Drogo," he then straightened. "And the father of Khaleesi Zhalli." The girl married to Robb Stark?

"It is nice to meet you," Aegon nodded at the man.

"I do not agree," Ifakko then narrowed his eyes. "I do not think that we should trust you," Aegon felt a little affronted at the words that came from the other man's mouth.

"Hm," Aegon Targaryen nodded his head slowly. "I suppose it would be wise not to trust me, especially if Westeros is to bend the knee to me instead of my aunt."

The man seemed to glower at him, "They will not bow to you. They will know the Khaleesi is their true ruler."

"Hm, I suppose we will see," Aegon then looked at the man's weaponry. "I must say, you Dothraki, your weaponry is something to marvel at. I suppose they will have to kneel, especially if a Dothraki hoard comes charging toward them. It sure would be a frightening sight."

"Hm," Ifakko grunted as someone called his name. "I would tread carefully," Ifakko warned, holding up his sword to point it at Aegon's neck. "If you become a threat we will not be afraid to dispose of you."

"I am sure you will," Aegon then held up his hands, hoping to appear less of a threat.

"Apologies," he then turned his head slowly. "My goodfather is not one of the kindest men," Aegon looked at Robb Stark who was watching his goodfather walk away. "He finds it easier to threaten than it does to get to know others."

"The Dothraki are a savage people." Aegon seemed to agree, nodding at Robb Stark. "What is it like to have a wife of the Dothraki?"

"It is interesting," Robb Stark admitted. "I am getting to know my wife slowly, she is not the easiest person to come to understand." Aegon heard a growl and he turned his head, "Apologies, Grey Wind is not one to warm up to new people quickly."

"You have a direwolf," Aegon said the words carefully. "It appears these are strange times, a King and a Queen standing proudly with their house's creatures at their side."

"Hm," Robb muttered, running his hands over the fur of Grey Wind.

"It is a shame I was not also gifted dragons," Aegon's voice was cool. "Perhaps that would also strengthen my claim."

"Or it could lead to another Dance of Dragons," Robb Stark seemed to have none of Aegon's wonder. He was much more pessimistic, Aegon decided that was from his years growing up in the cold harshness of the North.

"You are right," Aegon stared up at the dragons who flew overhead. "My aunt and I need to work together to take back what is rightfully ours."

"I do not suppose with such a name you could ever forget where you came from," Aegon was surprised at Robb's words. "Named after a conqueror."

"Hm," Aegon murmured. "No, I don't suppose I can. But you were named after a Usurper, were you not?"

Robb Stark seemed to flinch, "Yes. I was. My father's closest friend."

"And your father betrayed his King, yet why is it that you fight for the people your father betrayed?" Aegon was genuinely curious, watching the Stark as he tried to formulate an answer.

"Because Joffrey Baratheon is not the true King," he then settled on that answer.

"And the Usurper was not the true King either," Aegon could not help but be bitter. "Your father helped the Usurper in destroying my house. What changed your mind?"

"May I remind you, Prince Aegon, that your father kidnapped my aunt Lyanna and your grandfather murdered my grandfather and uncle." Robb Stark's voice was hard, Aegon found himself pleased at the reaction. "My mind was changed when I realised that Daenerys Targaryen would be the best option to help me reclaim the North and to bring peace to Westeros, once and for all."

"Then I suppose I cannot fault you," Aegon lowered his voice. "A son should not be punished for the sins of his father."

"I agree," Robb Stark then jerked up his chin, meeting Aegon's eyes. "I would not have my own son punished for my sins."

"You have a child?" Aegon studied Robb Stark, "I was aware that you only married your wife recently."

"I speak of my future son," Robb Stark was a proud man, he pushed back his shoulders. "My wife is yet to become with child."

"That is a shame," Aegon then grinned. "I would like to meet this Dothraki wife of yours."

"I am sure that can be arranged, Prince Aegon," Robb seemed to watch Aegon suspiciously. "There is a feast tonight, it is to welcome you."

"I will be there," Aegon then could not help the slow grin that appeared over his face. "I look forward to this feast."

"Excuse me," Robb Stark then said suddenly. "It appears my men are calling for me," Aegon turned to where Robb Stark was looking, to two very large men who seemed to watch Aegon with suspicion.

"I will see you tonight, King Robb," Aegon could not help the mocking of the title when the words slipped from his mouth.

Aegon was alienating people, he knew that as Robb Stark walked away. But he could not help himself, it was in his blood to punish those who sought to punish him. Looking out at the training grounds, he ran his violet eyes over them only his eyes came to stop on two women who came sauntering toward him. Both of them held swords in their hands, but they were two completely different women. He watched them, studying them closely as the two of them came to face one another.

One woman was clearly Dothraki, she wore horse skins and her skin was bronze like that of the Dothraki. Her hair was also long, braided and reached the small of her back. She was beautiful, Aegon thought as she came to stand with the other woman. She held herself as a warrior would, grasping the sword in her hand tightly as she came to study the other woman as the two of them crouched down, preparing to fight one another. Aegon could not tear his eyes away from the two women, he was curious to see which would defeat the other.

The other woman was magnificent, her skin pale and her long, brown hair also braided back. She had to be from Westeros, Aegon decided as she began to fight with the Dothraki woman in front of her. Aegon found her simply stunning, from her long face and her lithe body. She was made for battle, he found as a dance began between her and the Dothraki woman. Aegon forced himself to tear his eyes away from the women, for all her knew they were married and he had to speak with Jon Connington and Septa Lemore. They had much to discuss.

* * *

Aegon was dressed in his finest silks by the time the hour for the feast arrived. He left his hair loose and falling around his shoulders, and he wore a shirt of deep purple over black trousers. He turned to look at Jon Connington and Septa Lemore who had both studied him deeply, watching him with something akin to eagerness as he fixed himself. He then nodded at the two of them, before turning to follow one of the Unsullied who had been sent to fetch him. He was determined to earn favour at the feast, he was not about to shame Jon Connington, Lemore or himself.

He followed the Unsullied to the hall where the feast was being held. He was seated at the head table with Queen Daenerys and King Robb, he nodded at the two of them as he took his seat. Wine was poured for him and he sipped it slowly, pausing when he noticed the Dothraki woman he had seen fighting earlier. She was seated next to Robb Stark, close enough that Aegon rose his eyebrows. She was the wife of Robb Stark? Aegon found himself studying the two of them, they were not as close as Daenerys and her Dothraki horse lord, but they had not been married as long.

"Prince Aegon," he looked over at his aunt who spoke to him. "How are you on this night?"

"Quite well," he then said, holding up his glass to her.

"That is good," she then turned her attention to Robb Stark who sat with his wife. "Have you met King Robb's wife, Queen Zhalli?"

"I have not yet had the pleasure," he looked at the woman who was suddenly studying him. "She is a beautiful woman, King Robb, you must be grateful to our Queen for setting up this marriage."

"I am," Robb Stark muttered quietly as his wife looked up at him.

"Perhaps there is a match making bone in your body, my aunt," Aegon turned to smile up at her. "Perhaps that is also your purpose, to create happy marriages for your nobles after you retake the Iron Throne."

"Perhaps," his aunt clenched her teeth together. "And would you like me to create a match for you?"

"Oh, I do not believe I need one," he shook his head. "I will be able to find a match for myself, I am sure of it."

"Are you really so sure?" She challenged, "We have many nobles that are loyal to us. If I marry one of their daughters to my nephew, I am sure that I will inspire even further loyalty among them."

"No," he clenched his hands further around his goblet. "I do not believe that I will need your help to find myself a wife."

"I am unsure whether I believe you or not," she then sent him a tight smile. "However, I believe it is important that we discuss your marriage prospects as many will want their daughters as your bride."

"Your aunt is right," Robb Stark spoke up from the other end of the table. "Once it is known that Aegon Targaryen lives, there will be many competing for your hand."

"I know this," Aegon then frowned. "I cannot tell you how many times Lord Jon Connington has told me the same thing."

"Because he knows how Westeros works," his aunt pressed her lips together. "It is clear that you remain unable to understand the way Westeros works."

"And you have never stepped foot on Westeros," Aegon did not fail to remind her. "How would you know how it works?"

"But I have," Robb Stark spoke up from his end of the table. "And I can tell you they are both correct."

"Perhaps it is best we listen to those who have lived in Westeros, Aunt," he then nodded toward where Robb Stark was sitting. "I think that will benefit us well."

"I am sure it will," Daenerys glowered at him, before turning to her husband who leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Aegon watched the two of them, as a small smile appeared over Daenerys's face and then she turned to answer her husband in Dothraki.

Tension slid over the table, Aegon felt rather pleased with himself. He could imagine Lemore and Jon Connington badgering him, disappointed in the way he was baiting his aunt. But there was no way he was going to kneel to her, he was going to rule in his own right. Aegon clenched his hand around his goblet, watching his aunt who spoke quietly with her husband who seemed to glower at Aegon. If he felt reckless, he would have smiled at the Dothraki male, taunting him. But Aegon did not feel like risking his life, instead he would keep to himself.

"Why do you not dance?" He heard his aunt ask and Aegon watched as she spoke to Robb Stark and his wife.

"Because I do not think we could match the dancing of the Dothraki," Robb Stark admitted. Aegon believed the man meant that he could not match it, as his wife was Dothraki. But Aegon understood what the man meant, the dancing was violent and matched with sex. He saw women with their breasts barred, being bent over as a man rutted behind them. Aegon believed the Dothraki were strange and he wondered how the Westerosi would ever begin to accept them.

"I agree," Aegon then spoke up as he eyed two women that kissed. "I do not believe that I could keep up with the Dothraki."

"This dancing is odd to you," Robb Stark's wife spoke up for the first time, and Aegon found himself looking at her. "But it is just how we conduct ourselves. There is no shame in our people." Khal Drogo grunted in agreement.

"We do not wish to shame you," Robb Stark said quietly, as if attempting to calm his wife. "But it is much different to what we know, you must understand this."

Aegon thought the two of them strange, they were not in love that much was clear. They did not vibrate with the same frequency that his aunt and her husband did, instead they seemed hesitant to. They appeared to want to work together, but also appeared terrified of what that might mean if they did so. Aegon watched the two of them, as their eyes met but neither one seemed to back down from the other. Curious, Aegon thought and took a sip of his wine, he was going to enjoy watching the two of them if he stuck around.

And he was going to stick around, he had to. If he was going to convince his aunt to allow him to rule, he needed to make sure that he was still around to prove that he was acceptable enough to rule. Aegon's eyes flickered over the rest of the room, he paused when he noticed the same woman he had seen earlier darting through the crowds of people. She was beautiful, in a dangerous, violent way. She paid him no mind as she moved through the Dothraki, coming to the very edge of the table and close to Robb Stark.

Once the feast was over, Aegon made it back to his chambers where he changed and was relieved to be alone. He then moved to his belongings, rifling around to pull out a small, painted image. It was something he had treasured ever since Jon Connington had given it to him, eleven years prior. He never went anywhere without it, sometimes it was on his person but not when he went into battle as he did not want to destroy the miniature. He ran his fingers over the image, sitting down slowly at the end of his bed.

The miniature was an image of his family. His father, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, stood behind his mother with one hand on her shoulder. His mother, Princess Elia Martell, was seated with a babe on her lap. That babe was his sister Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, just after her birth and before Aegon was even a flicker in his mother's thought. He liked to keep the miniature on him, even if he was not painted within it. The image served as a reminder to all he had lost, and to remember his family that watched over him among the Gods.

Aegon's thoughts often turned to his mother, he wondered what she was like. Jon Connington said his mother was lovely enough, but not suited to be Queen or to be married to his father. _Then that wolf bitch was?_ Aegon could not help the thoughts that came over his mind, he loathed the woman that had caused him to lose his birth right and led to the majority of his house murdered by the Usurper. He had much frustration within him, frustration at the way his life had been planned out for him. And it was all his father's fault.

If Prince Rhaegar had not been so selfish…

Tearing his thoughts away from the tragedy of his family, Aegon placed the miniature back in his back and he threw himself back on the bed. The chambers were modest, he figured it was a slight against him and was meant to teach him a lesson with the size of them. He found it more amusing more than anything, as he gazed up at the ceiling of his chambers. His mind drifted, his thoughts fixated on how he would convince his aunt to bend the knee to him. He would have to do something drastic, to make her believe he would be a better ruler.

His immediate thought was betrayal, to poison his aunt and be done with it. But he would immediately be caught and then he would doom their house for eternity. So he could not betray her, instead winning her trust was the only way he would be able to ensure he received the crown that was so rightfully his. Aegon could not help the slow smile that spread across his face at the thought of ruling Westeros.

He would be the best King Westeros had ever seen.


	17. XVII

**Um yo.**

 **Another chapter for you guys, can I thank you all for the reviews by the way? Like it means a lot people are actually enjoying it. Hopefully it means that people will read my other AUs that I plan to write for Game of Thrones.**

 **How do you feel about Dacey Mormont surviving the Red Wedding? To recruit Willas Tyrell, Arianna Martell and Allyria Dayne to put Jon Snow on the throne? This story doesn't have any OCs if that entices anyone but won't be published for a while.**

 **But anyway, hopefully you guys are enjoying this more.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

* * *

 **XVII**

 **ZHALLI**

 **NO** longer did she take moon tea, it was a risk she was willing to take. For her husband and his kingdom. Zhalli prayed to the Great Stallion that her womb did not quicken with child, she wanted to see the battle out before she gave birth and she could not do so with a child in her womb. She was yet to tell her husband, but that was also due to the fact they had not lain together since the night of their marriage. It had been two moons since then, and he did not come to her bed.

Zhalli found herself concerned, was she not pleasing enough? She thought as she peered in the reflecting glass of the bathing chambers. It seemed silly, her thoughts that turned to her beauty when she had other things to focus on. Her beauty was not important, not when her husband was so desperate to reunite his family and claim the seat that had once held his family. Her beauty was trivial, and if she birthed him strong sons it would not matter so much if she was beautiful or not. So she forced the thoughts from her mind, they were rather silly.

"Your Grace," still unused to the title, Zhalli flinched a little and turned to the serving girl. "The bath has been drawn."

"Thank you," she was also unused to the word in the common tongue that did not belong to her own natural language.

"Would you like to be bathed?" The girl asked as another came to stand by the bath as Zhalli sunk into the warmth.

"No," she then held up her hand. "But I wish to hear the news," she then said, was that not what a queen was supposed to do? Listen to the voices of her people?

"News," one of the girls looked unsure, her voice squeaked.

"Yes," Zhalli frowned and moved to the edge of the bath. She then rested her hands on top of the bath, "Surely there is news."

"I do not know what news you speak of," the tallest of the serving girls stepped forward. "Do you wish to know of the Queen's nephew, Prince Aegon?"

"Yes," Zhalli was curious about the man. At the feast he had made quite an impression, she could not say that it was a good one as he seemed to be there to cause a rise out of the Khaleesi.

"Well," the two serving girls looked to each other. "He speaks in High Valyrian," one of them said, "And he speaks it with the Queen."

"High Valyrian," Zhalli did not know all the languages of Essos. She only knew Dothraki and the Common Tongue.

"Yes, and he has a taste for women," one of them had their cheeks colour. "He has not been able to stop himself from being with the women that offer themselves to him."

"That is not strange," Zhalli cocked her head to the side. "Many men do the same."

"Yes," one of them giggled. "But he seems to dally with much of the serving girls, and the Dothraki."

"I should not be surprised," Zhalli rested her head on the side of the bath. "We are very free with our love." Or at least, other Dothraki had been. There was no way Zhalli would ever have been as free with her father and her uncle as Khal Drogo.

"Is that all, Your Grace?" One of the girls stepped forward.

"Oh, yes," Zhalli then nodded and decided to push herself up and out of the bath. The shortest serving girl hurried over to hand Zhalli a bathing towel.

Zhalli managed to dry herself and dress herself, she also braided back her wet hair and did not bother with any kohl. Zhalli excused herself from the two serving girls, pulling on her boots and then heading to find her husband. He could mostly be seen with Aegon Targaryen, as he was tasked with distracting the man and getting to know him. It seemed that her husband did not appreciate it, he believed that it should be the Khaleesi who was tasked with looking after her nephew. Zhalli was not sure, she was just confused by Aegon.

First, she needed to break her fast, and most of the time she would break her fast with the Dothraki outside in the morning sun. But when she had awoken it had been specifically requested of her to dine with the Khaleesi. Zhalli's thoughts ran wild, she wondered what the Khaleesi needed to speak to her about. She hoped there was no trouble, and she hoped that soon they would head to Westeros as she felt the need to fight. There was no bloodshed in Meereen, which she thought to be disappointing but she would rather kill the men in iron for her husband and Khaleesi.

"Khaleesi," Zhalli said as she made her way toward the table the Khaleesi was seated at with her children.

"Ah, Queen Zhalli," Daenerys smiled, bouncing Najaho on her lap. "Come, sit."

Zhalli did as she was told, taking a seat by Vorsakko. "Hello," the child waved at her, a grin on his face.

"Hello, Vorsakko," she smiled at the boy. "Are you well?" She slipped into Dothraki, knowing the children preferred to speak their father's language.

"Yes," he chirped as he bit into his bread.

"He is very well," Daenerys smiled. "His father should be here to collect Rhaego and Vorsakko soon." It was then Zhalli noticed the Khaleesi's eldest son standing, watching.

"Is there something you wished to speak with me about?" Zhalli kept speaking in Dothraki, not many could understand the language.

"Yes," the Khaleesi cleared her throat. "I spoke with Khal Drogo about your mother, I wished to know."

"And what did he say?" Zhalli became excited, she wanted to know more.

"He said you remind him a lot of his sister, but that is all," Zhalli's shoulders slumped at the words of her Khaleesi. She was very disappointed.

"Oh," she looked down at her hands.

"You wish for more," Daenerys nodded her head slowly. "I understand, unfortunately I don't think you will get any more information about her."

"I know," she ran her fingers through her hair. "I just wish I knew more."

"You do not need to know more," Daenerys then said. "You need to move on, you are to become Queen in the North. Focus on your husband and his customs."

"Right," Zhalli still did not feel right. How was she supposed to be a good mother if she could barely remember her own? "I do not take moon tea anymore."

"Ah," Daenerys nodded her head slowly. "May I ask why?"

"Because I pray to the Great Stallion that I will not become with child," Zhalli then said. "But I do need to give my husband an heir, correct?"

"Yes," Daenerys reached down to run her fingers through Najaho's dark hair. "It is important that you provide an heir to your husband."

"So I will do my duty," Zhalli then cocked her head to the side. "But we have not lain together since the night we wed."

"Really?" The Khaleesi looked right at Zhalli, eyebrows raising in surprise.

"It is surprising?" Zhalli asked, "I thought so too. I assumed that a husband would bed me nightly."

"Perhaps," Daenerys ducked her head, moving closer to Zhalli. "Perhaps he prefers men."

Zhalli blinked at her Khaleesi, "Do you think so?"

"Perhaps," Daenerys leaned back in her seat and then smiled at something behind Zhalli. She turned her head as Khal Drogo strode into the room, "Vorsakko, your father is here." The child was up quickly, hurrying toward his father who scooped his son into his arms and nodded at his other son, before turning and leaving the hall.

Zhalli's thoughts turned to her husband, did he prefer the company of men? She was unsure, the night of their wedding had been nice – pleasurable. But did he have a male lover? The thought bothered her, had she been forced to marry a man who lusted for the flesh of men? Looking down at the table, she began to fill her plate but ate slowly, feeling as if she was unable to eat. But she forced herself to eat, it was healthier to eat and if she was going to be training later on she needed her energy.

"There are ways to know if he prefers the company of men," the Khaleesi said once her children were gone. Najaho had been gathered up by another woman, taken for his morning nap.

"How so?" Zhalli looked at her Khaleesi for guidance.

"I did not think him attracted to me," Daenerys paused. "But you never know, they hide their secrets well."

"How can I know?" Zhalli prompted.

"Well, you will just have to seduce him," Daenerys then said. "If he is able to resist you," Daenerys smiled sadly, "Then I will apologise for forcing you into a marriage you will never be happy in."

 _Seduce him_. Zhalli thought it ridiculous, did she really need to seduce her husband? She had other things to worry about, like the inevitable conquer of Westeros and her being Queen in the North. That was important, she was a Khaleesi and she hardly knew much of her husband's court. She would need to speak to her husband's people more, to learn more of his home and his way of life. It was why she was on the hunt for Arya, or at least Dacey Mormont. Surely one of them could teach her, rather than train with her.

She came to the ship which belonged to her husband, a large ship with the House Stark sigil on the sails. It was named _Lyanna,_ after his aunt according to what she had been told. Much of her husband's people spent their days on the ship or around Meereen, Zhalli was hoping that she could find Dacey Mormont and begin to question her about the North and their customs. They appeared much different to her own customs, Zhalli wanted to make sure she could fit in as Queen in the North and there would be no objections.

"Queen Zhalli," someone was startled as she stepped onto the deck of the ship. She really hated it, she felt as if the sea would overtake the ship.

"You are the Smalljon," she said as the giant man came toward her.

"I am," he grinned at her. "Are you looking for Robb?"

"No," she shook her head. "I look for Dacey Mormont."

"Ah, Dacey," he then nodded his head slowly. "She has gone to the markets early this morning, I cannot tell you when she will be back."

"Oh," Zhalli looked down at her hands. "Then what of Arya?"

"Arya, I couldn't tell you, she comes and goes as she pleases," the man shrugged his shoulders.

"Then will you help me?" She asked, meeting his eyes.

"Help you," he looked a little startled. "What do you need help with?"

"I need to know more of the North," she then said. "I don't understand your customs."

"Right, well," he then grinned. "That should be easy enough."

"Good," Zhalli then headed further onto the boat, but she still felt as if it was a mistake to be on the water. "You need to tell me, I want to know more about the North."

"Right, come along then," Smalljon motioned toward the helm where the ships wheel was situated. "We will speak up here, that way we can see the whole ship just in case."

"In case what?"

"We've had people that have tried to take the ship."

"Have you told the Khaleesi, or Khal Robb?"

"What good would that do?" He shrugged his shoulders, "They have a lot on their minds and we've been able to handle it. We just turn them over to the Unsullied and we never see them again. Most of them are just petty thieves, or people who have suffered badly."

"Many still suffer?"

"Of course, it's a war. The innocents will always suffer."

"Ah," but Zhalli did not think the war was in Meereen.

"Now what do you want to know?" Smalljon came to a pause, resting his hands on the railing of the boat.

"What will be my duties?" She stood away from the edge, near the steering wheel as she did not want to fall into the harbour.

"Well," Smalljon reached up to rub the back of his neck. "You will be Queen of the North; your duty will be to follow your husband and give him heirs."

"Is that all there is?" She stared up at him, the Khaleesi had much more to do.

"What else is there?" He shrugged his shoulders, "It is an honour."

It did not feel like an honour, "I will not lead men into battle?"

"Well, no," he shook his head. "Why would you need to when you care for Robb's children?"

"My duty is to please my children and have only children?" It was no different from the Dothraki, but at least the women would be able to fight. But the Khaleesi… she had so much freedom, freedom that Zhalli feared would be taken from her.

"Yes," Smalljon was frowning at her. "Are you alright, my Queen?"

"Yes," she reached up slowly, placing one hand on her head. "Are you sure that is all I will be doing?"

"You would have to ask Robb," Smalljon shrugged his shoulders. "You would travel around Westeros, of course. And I'm sure you would be in King's Landing regularly as Queen Daenerys is your aunt, correct?"

"Yes," Zhalli furrowed her brows. "Why will I not be able to fight? Lady Dacey is able to fight, she fights beside my husband."

"Dacey's special," Smalljon shrugged his shoulders. "No one would dare tell the ladies of Bear Island what to do."

"Then they will not tell me what to do," Zhalli straightened, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth. "I am their _Khaleesi_."

Smalljon let a grin cross his face, "Exactly. We have never had a Queen, or a Khaleesi – at least not since Torrhen, the King Who Knelt. Therefore there are no rules, and Lady Catelyn was a Southern lady who followed her husband's words."

"I do not understand," Zhalli frowned at Smalljon.

"You can make it as you go," Smalljon shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sure Robb won't stop you from whatever you want to do."

"Good," Zhalli then paused. "Excuse me," she thought being polite would best get her the answer she needed. "Do you believe my husband may be attracted to… men?"

Smalljon choked and began to pound his chest, looking away from her. Zhalli's eyes widened in concern, was she correct? "What made you say that?"

"I…" she stopped herself, did she really admit to one of her husband's men that they had not bedded since the night of their wedding?

"Because I can tell you, Robb Stark is not interested in men," Smalljon shook his head. "I know that for sure."

"Oh," Zhalli blinked at Smalljon. "He was popular with women?"

"Yes," Smalljon was unashamed as he told his Queen. "Whores boasted, in Braavos, Pentos, Lys… many of the free cities."

"Has he lain with anyone since arriving in Meereen?" She grew suspicious, was that why he did not share her bed? She would kill him, and the whore he had decided to lay with. Zhalli was not to be disrespected.

"No," Smalljon shook his head. "Robb Stark would never dishonour his wife by laying with another woman after his marriage."

"Before?"

"There was hardly a chance," Smalljon rolled his eyes. "There is nothing you need to be suspicious about, Queen Zhalli." Smalljon then paused, "But why are you so jealous?"

"I would kill him, and the whore," she admitted. "Nobody will take what is mine from me."

"I am glad we have a queen with such ferocity," Smalljon let out a laugh. It was a big, deep laugh that came from his belly. "But I promise you, Robb Stark has not lain with someone since before we arrived in Meereen, not counting yourself, of course."

"Yes, we consummated our marriage," Zhalli nodded. "Thank you, the Smalljon."

"You are welcome," he smiled in amusement. "Is there anything else you wished to learn?"

"I am unsure," she frowned briefly. "I will come to you if I need more answers."

"Perhaps it is best that you go to Robb," Smalljon suggested. "He will be able to answer your questions more thoroughly."

"But I cannot find him," and she also wondered how she would ever be able to question him in such a manner. It would be disappointing if he did care for men, or embarrassing if he did not. So seduction was her best course of action.

Without saying goodbye to Smalljon, Zhalli turned on her heels quickly and headed off the large ship. Once she was on the hard stone of the docks, she felt relief and her heart ceased racing. Someone was calling her name, but she was much too focused on finding her husband so she headed through the crowded streets of Meereen back to the pyramid right in the heart of the city. Zhalli weaved through crowds of people that consisted of Dothraki, Unsullied, formers slaves and former slave owners. She smiled at some of the children who played among the streets, watching as they laughed freely.

It was satisfying to know they were happy after the Khaleesi had freed them. Zhalli paused by a merchant who was selling silks and jewels, she gazed at them with wide curious eyes but she did not have coin on her. So she left disappointed and empty handed, heading toward the palace. The walk was long from the docks to the palace, it was tiring but it had to be done as she wanted to make sure she understood her husband. And she wished to enjoy bedding, it was her right as a wife.

Robb Stark was evading her, he seemed to be nowhere. She ran into people she had no time for, it was rather bothersome. Zhalli was almost bowled over by Grey Wind when she entered their shared chambers, she stumbled back a little and stared down at the direwolf. She was still not comfortable with the creature, but he did not want her attention as he ran out of the door and into the hallway. She watched, heart pounding in her chest as she heard some shrieks from some serving girls down the far end of the hall.

She looked around her chambers but it was empty, so why was Grey Wind locked inside? Zhalli frowned, heading toward the window where the coverings were billowing with the wind. Outside the wind was howling, it appeared as though there would be a storm. Storms were rare in Meereen, it was a dry and arid place that hardly experienced the wet. The great grass plains where the Dothraki thrived had hardly experienced rain either, Zhalli found that she liked the rain. She liked the way it splattered against her body, and seemed to be warm even though it was supposed to be cold.

Heading out of her chambers, Zhalli poked her head down the hall and followed after Grey Wind. Though the direwolf was perhaps long gone, she could still manage to find him as he would likely be with his master. Zhalli's hands clenched into fists as she made her way down the stairs, hurrying quickly in the darkness that was only lit by torches on the wall. Once down on the very bottom floor, she thought of the great hall where a feast would usually be served and decided to try her luck down there.

"Queen Zhalli," she whipped around at the title, staring up at Dacey Mormont.

"Dacey Mormont," Zhalli muttered. "I am looking for my husband, have you seen him?"

"Robb is with the men feasting," Dacey smiled. "I can take you to him, if you would like? Have you eaten yet?"

"No," she shook her head. In all her determination, she had not eaten much all day.

"I was just on my way there," Dacey told Zhalli as they began to move down the hall. "Have you been searching for him long?"

"No," Zhalli shook her head. "Though I found Grey Wind locked in our chambers."

"That's odd," Dacey then said.

"Mm," Zhalli was lost in her thoughts as she followed Dacey Mormont to one of the halls where the Northerners were feasting. "They are loud," she said, as she could hear music and loud, boastful laughter as she drew closer.

"Yes," Dacey let a grin cross her face. "That is Northerners, loud and boastful. Is there really a good time if there is not noise?"

"Yes," Zhalli agreed, because Dothraki feasts and celebrations could get loud a rowdy. There had often been death, but the Khaleesi had soon put a stop to that so her husband would not lose good men.

Once inside, Zhalli was immediately pulled into large, thick arms and squashed against a chest. She blinked rapidly, a little surprised at the sudden contact as she was then placed down on her feet. Swaying a little, she gazed up at the large man who had sought to pull her into his arms. The man was laughing, he then turned to Dacey Mormont, only to pull her into his arms in the same way. Dacey seemed to take it with stride, hitting the man affectionately on his large chest and laughing along with him.

Zhalli recognised him as Greatjon Umber, father to Smalljon. "It is good to see ye, my Queen!" The Greatjon then smacked her on the back, she gasped and stumbled forward. "Och," he then gazed down at her, "I forgot ye are nothin' but a little thing."

"The Queen should be at the table with her husband," Dacey then said, to place a hand on Zhalli to guide her.

"Yes, of course," Greatjon stepped to the side. "I'm sure there's a seat there for yer."

Zhalli blinked up at the large man, "You are a good man, the Greatjon."

"And you will be a good Queen to the North, even if ye are a foreigner," the Greatjon grinned at her as he led them through the crowd of people to the table.

She heard laughter and peered around the Greatjon, to look at her husband. There was a grin on his face that made him appeared youthful, he held ale in one hand and was smacking the table with his free hand. He was gazing at the Smalljon as he laughed, Zhalli's eyes turned to the other man and noticed he was laughing too. He had his hands on his abdomen, his mouth wide and his head thrown back as he laughed.

"My King!" The Greatjon's voice boasted as they got to the table, Robb stopped laughing and turned. "Your wife!" The Greatjon stepped to the side to reveal Zhalli who stared up at her husband who stood up.

"My wife!" Robb spread his arms open, some of his ale splashed over the rim of his cup.

Zhalli headed around the table, to come stand beside her husband. "Husband," she stared right at him, unblinking as he grinned down at her and suddenly pulled her into his arms.

"My wife is a beauty!" He called out as he pulled away from her, cheers rang out through the hall.

He was drunk, Zhalli was able to decode as he swayed a little. "Husband," she helped him to sit down, taking her seat beside him. "You are drunk."

"Of course," he smiled at her. "I am celebrating."

"What is to celebrate?"

"In a sennight we sail for King's Landing!" His voice boomed throughout the hall and at his announcement, cheers erupted through the hall and Zhalli looked out at her husband's people who celebrated their return back to Westeros and the North.

"Truly?" Zhalli asked her husband as he turned to look at her, blue eyes glazed over with intoxication.

"Yes," he bent down to press his hand against her cheek. "I cannot wait for you to see my home. Winterfell is beautiful." He then paused, "And I will marry you, before the Old Gods."

"The Old Gods?" Zhalli was baffled, perhaps it was something she had to learn about.

"Yes," he grinned, leaning back only to sit down and pull Zhalli down with him. She was perked on his lap, her legs between his as he brought more ale to his lips. "Would you like some?" He offered the ale before it came to his lips.

"No," she preferred sweet wines.

"Then," he drank the rest of the ale and leaned forward to slam it down on the table. Zhalli then chose that moment to grasp a leg of chicken, biting into it.

"Queen Zhalli," Smalljon leaned over to them, "We are proud to have you as our Queen."

She felt honoured, "Thank you." She was humbled by their words, but still – she could not help but think that she had not done much at all in the way of being Queen.

Zhalli then looked out at the men and women who had become her people, the way they danced and cheered for the fact they could return _home_. She studied their faces, trying to commit them to memory though she had no clue of their names or who they were. She blinked as she noticed a man lift the skirts of one of the women who turned around to smack him right. The man only threw back his head with laughter, shoulders shaking as she men around him cheered. The woman also laughed, only to press herself against the large man and accept the kiss he placed upon her.

That was seduction in the North? Zhalli's brows rose in surprise, it did not seem so… nice. If a man was to try to lift her skirts… Zhalli would put a blade through his throat. But she did not often wear skirts, she wore breeches as did most Dothraki women as there was no use for skirts on the plains – especially when they were astride their horses. Turning her attention away from the celebration, she then looked up at her husband who had come to rest his free hand on the side of her hip.

"Wife," Robb's lips brushed her ear and she shivered, leaning away from him and staring in shock. "You have pleased me."

"Pleased?" This word was foreign, she did not know the meaning.

"Yes," he hummed. "I find myself thanking Daenerys Targaryen for our match. If it had not been you, it would have been a Frey."

"What is a Frey?"

"Exactly!" He shouted, laughing. "But that is not for you to worry about."

"Yes."

"Yes," he then grinned at her, before he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was soft and lingered there, Zhalli held her breath as she waited for him to pull away.

Once he did her mind was in uproar and her heart threatened to leap from her chest. What was that?


	18. XVIII

**So my friend found the beginning of this hilarious. Good, because I am all about Robb being tight with Smalljon. BFFs.**

 **Anyway hope you like the chapter.**

 **I don't really have much more to say other than the fact I have so many other Game of Thrones stories I am working on that I hope you guys also might read when it comes time to publish them.**

 **But thank you guys so much for the reviews and stuff, it means a lot to me. Also sorry if I don't reply, I mean to but I forget and I also get too excited and honestly never know what to say.**

 **But anyway enjoy x**

* * *

 **XVIII**

 **ROBB**

 **IT** grew closer to the day they would set sail for Westeros. Robb Stark woke up hungover after a celebration feast for the fact they would he sailing home. His head was pounding and his vision was blurry, there was a bright light shining down on his face and he held up his hand to block out the bright light. He moaned, turning over on his side and peering at the person lying in the bed beside him. It was not his wife, instead it was Smalljon Umber whose feet were hanging over the end of the bed.

"Smalljon," Robb Stark reached over, shaking his friend who moaned.

"Go away," Smalljon murmured. "I suppose you are my whore of the night," Smalljon then reached over to wrap his arms around Robb's body.

"Smalljon," Robb flinched as his friend began to pepper kisses against Robb's face and neck. "Smalljon!"

Robb heard laughter and he turned his head to his wife who stood by the end of the door. "The Smalljon still sleeps," his wife said as she made her way toward the bed, "Here." She then proceeded to help release him from Smalljon's grip, he slipped and tumbled to the floor.

"Why is he in our chambers?" Robb demanded.

"You are not in our chambers," his wife said and he found himself looking around the much smaller chambers. "You and the Smalljon could not be persuaded away from each other."

"Oh," Robb's eyes widened. He still wore his breeches, his boots but he was without his tunic. "You did not try to stop me?"

"You could not be persuaded," his wife smiled down at him. "This is your tunic," she then sniffed, curling her nose. "I think you should bathe, you do not smell pleasant."

"Right," he frowned. "What did I do last night?"

His wife blinked slowly, "You celebrated, very hard." She led him back toward their chambers that were a floor above Smalljon's chambers.

"Hm," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I cannot seem to remember."

"I am not surprised," his wife smiled up at him. He found himself a little blinded by her smile, and he noticed a deep-set dimple in her right cheek.

"Do I need to apologise?" He said, "I do not usually drink to such an excess. I do not like it, not since I saw Robert Baratheon in the halls of Winterfell."

"The Usurper?" Zhalli blinked, the name she could hardly recognise.

"Yes," Robb Stark scowled. "He was a drunk bastard, I cannot believe they had sort fit to put him on the throne."

"He is a monster," Zhalli agreed. "The Khaleesi will be much better for your Westeros."

"I agree," Robb stumbled a little, still a little drunk from the night before. "What time is it?" He asked as he noticed a lot of people in the palace were out and about.

"It is midday," his wife explained as she pushed the doors to their chambers open, allowing him to step inside before her.

"Midday," Robb moaned as he fell onto the large bed of his chambers. "Midday."

"Perhaps you should rest," his wife suggested.

"I cannot rest," Robb threw himself onto his back. His head was still pounding from the night before, "There is much to be done before we are to sail to Westeros."

"I grow curious about Westeros," he felt the bed shift as his wife came to rest beside him. She lay on her side, her elbow propped up with her head resting in her hand.

"What are you curious about?" Robb kept his eyes on his wife's eyes.

"The North," she said carefully. "It is… big."

"It is," he smiled at her. He watched the way she attempted to find the words and an answer, "Is there something particular you wished to know?"

"A man lifted the skirts of a woman who kissed him," Zhalli cocked her head to the side. "Is this… courting in the North?"

"No," Robb shook his head. "No man would ever do that to a lady."

"Hm," Zhalli blinked slowly. "I am trying to understand the North, and attempting to understand your customs."

"I suppose the North is very different to the Dothraki," he muttered, hands resting on his stomach as he looked up at the ceiling.

"Yes," she sat up further, leaning over him and Robb looked up into her brown eyes. They were warm and golden, "I wish to know more about your people and your places."

"I can show you," he pushed himself up, but his head was dizzy and he paused. "Get the map," he encouraged her to move to the table in their room and she did that. He watched as she pulled the map into her arms and then hurried to the bed, spreading the map over their legs.

"Where is your home?" She asked as she gazed at the map.

"Here," Robb pointed to Winterfell, he caressed the map with his finger. "It is where I grew up, it is where I will raise my children."

"It is far," she stared at the map. "It is large?"

"Yes," he nodded his head. "Not as large as say, the Red Keep – it is enough."

"Hm," she stared at the map. "What else is in the North?"

"Well, this is White Harbour," he pointed to White Harbour on the map. "It is where we will sail to when we go to take back the North."

"Yes," she nodded her head slowly, her hair was loose and it fell over her face. Robb then reached over, tucking a black curl behind her ear. His finger skimmed her cheek and she looked up, her golden eyes meeting his blue and she blinked at him. Another woman would have blushed, but Zhalli didn't. She watched him, her eyebrows pulling together as though she was unsure of what he was doing.

"Apologies," he pulled his fingers from her.

She then reached up to touch her cheek where he had touched her cheek, "What is this?" Her finger then pointed to the Wall.

"That's the Wall, it was built for the men of the Night's Watch," Robb explained as he pushed himself up. "Men are sent to the war for crimes, some men volunteer like my half-brother did. But it is there to keep watch."

"Watch for what?"

"For the Wildlings," he shrugged his shoulders. "But there is a story of the dead," he smiled. "But that was just a story told to us by Old Nan, it was just a story – one meant to scare little children into bed."

"These Wildlings… what do they do?"

"They rape… pillage… murder," Robb shrugged his shoulders. "They can be very violent and cause problems for the North, that is why we have the Night's Watch."

"They sound no different to the Dothraki," she was not unaware of who her people were and what they were about. "And what more can you tell me?"

"The North are descended from the First Men," he then offered her an apologetic look. "I am not the greatest storyteller; Old Nan was much better. But as descendants of the First Men, we have more claim to Westeros than anyone else."

"Oh," she blinked slowly. "So why are you not Kings already?"

"Oh, we were," Robb curled his mouth, a little bitter. "Until Torrhen, the King Who Knelt, we were Kings. But with the arrival of the Targaryens and Aegon the Conqueror with their dragons, Torrhen knelt for the safety of the North. We want our freedom from the crown, too long has the South taken advantage of the North." His wife watched him and he shrugged his shoulders, "The North has managed to survive, but we have been taken advantage of fair too often. It became worse when the Lannisters came into power."

"Who are these Lannisters?" Zhalli gathered up the map, seeming to have enough of an education for the day.

"They are our enemy, they are monsters," he then laid a hand over her hand. "No matter what, we are not to trust them. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she nodded her head slowly. "But will I ever meet them?"

"I can only hope not," he gritted his teeth. "And if you are to fight you will cross blades with them."

"I will fight," she insisted, glowering down at Robb who could not help but smile up at her.

"And I will not stop you," he then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I suppose I better take a bath and go about my day, there are things that we have to do to get ourselves prepared for the eventual sailing to Westeros."

"Is there anything I should do?"

"No," he shook his head. "I only need you to listen to me and follow my lead. Can you do that?"

He watched as she pressed her lips together, as if prepared to argue. "Yes," she then said, Robb appreciated it as he could tell it was difficult for her to agree.

Once he had finished bathing, Robb finished dressing and rubbed his neck. He then exited the bathing chambers and strode towards the doors, they opened and he nodded at the Unsullied who stood beside them. He then made his way through the halls of the palace, intent on finding Queen Daenerys Targaryen to discuss with her the importance of them claiming Westeros. They would be leaving soon and Robb could not help but feel excited, he wanted to be in Winterfell once again – he needed to bury his father in the crypts.

Robb's thoughts turned to the celebration feast he had held the night before. But his thoughts were blocked, there was not much he could remember from the night before. He rubbed his head that was still pounding, but it had slightly lessened after he had taken his meal in the bath tub. That had been a strange experience that he had never thought of before in his life, but it had also been relaxing. It also made sure that he could clean himself and eat at the same time, he came to appreciate something he would've frowned upon with his men.

He pushed his fingers through his curls that were damp and headed toward the throne room. He turned a corner and paused when he noticed Aegon Targaryen also entering the throne room. Robb was still suspicious of the man, he did not trust him but there was nothing else he could do. He moved to the doors that opened for him, and he moved behind Aegon who continued to move forward. Robb then came to a stop at the end of the stairs, where as Aegon continued up them – until Khal Drogo stepped away from his wife and down the stairs.

"Apologies," Aegon held up his hands and stepped backwards. "I only thought to greet my aunt, but I will not get too close."

"Good," Daenerys said from the throne, nodding at her husband who came to stand close by her side again. "King Robb, I am surprised you are up. We could hear the festivities last night, I am sure none of your people would be awake."

Robb let a grin cross his face as Aegon Targaryen turned around to look at Robb Stark, "We Northerners are able to bounce back, quickly." He then nodded at her, "And we have business to discuss."

"You are right," Daenerys leaned back. "And that business is Westeros."

"Yes," he looked to Aegon. "I assume you will also be sailing with us?"

"I would not miss it," Aegon gave them a quick grin. "Where do we land?"

"Dragonstone," Daenerys then said. "We land at Dragonstone, we take back my ancestral home and then we finally decide where we go next."

"Dorne," Aegon said suddenly. "I am half Dornish, my family will certainly help us. Do you not think?" He looked around the room to all those who were inside the throne room.

"They will," Daenerys smiled at him. "As I have already written them, Dorne has always been our ally." Robb thought it rather clever of her that she said _our_ rather than _my_ , she was including Aegon as part of her.

"Well, good," Aegon rubbed the back of his neck.

"So there is no need for us to go to Dorne," Daenerys then said. "We have allies there, it is important that we go straight for King's Landing."

"I have something," Robb said carefully, he hoped that he would not be shot down straight away.

"Well, go on," Daenerys waved her hand at him.

"We sail North," he said quickly, "To White Harbour and we take back the North. That way we are coming from multiple sides, the North, Dorne and Dragonstone. We trap them, we continue to push against them to create pressure."

"And who's to say you would not betray us?" Aegon sudden glowered at Robb, "Who is to say that you are not using us to take back your kingdom only for you to stab us in the back?"

"Because I would never," he glowered at the taller man. "I have honour, Prince Aegon, that must be foreign to you."

"I know about Starks and their honour," Aegon's nostrils flared. "They allowed my mother to be brutalised and my sister to be murdered."

"Enough!" Daenerys barked, holding up her hand. "If we cannot come to an agreement, why should we leave Meereen?" She stood from her seat, glowering at the two of them. "King Robb will take back the North with the majority of our forces," Aegon opened his mouth to protest. "It is a smart move; the North will become a stronghold once we can rid the North of the Boltons and other vermin among them."

"And what of you?" Robb asked the woman.

"I will remain in Dragonstone," she said. "Unless you require my dragons?" She raised a brow.

"I believe we can take the North without the use of dragons," he was confident.

"Good," she then turned her purple eyes to Aegon. "You will go to Dorne, as you have suggested and as our envoy. I believe that the Dornish will back you, however, if I receive word of dissent then I will come gather my dragons and rain fiery hell upon Dorne. Do you understand, nephew?"

"I understand," the words were bitter, spat out.

"Good," Daenerys's voice was cool. "Because to take Westeros we need all the allies we can get. And I want the Lannisters to _burn_." There was mad fury within her eyes and Robb grew alarmed, was it the Mad King come again? He did not push the thoughts from his mind, he kept them buried. If Daenerys Targaryen revealed herself to be another Mad King, he would instead back Prince Aegon's claim to the throne as the kingdom needed someone steady. They did not need insanity and they did not need a drunkard, they needed a King or Queen who would _care_.

Robb worried, however. Neither of them had been raised in Westeros, they could not relate to those who lived in Westeros. They were both too far removed from Westeros, Robb worried he would have to remain in King's Landing to help them both understand. He paused, but surely the Dornish could do it? He then tensed, worrying the Dornish would also have some sort of agenda that would earn themselves more power. He would have to stay in King's Landing for a while, he would keep his wife with him and send the rest of his family North.

"We should not use fire in the city," Robb then spoke up. "In King's Landing, the dragons should focus their fire outside the city – on the boats and the armies outside. If they burn the city too many innocents will die, and you will reduce King's Landing to nothing but ash. You will not have a throne to sit upon."

"He is right," Missandei finally spoke up from her seat. "Our goal was never to harm the innocents as we released the slaves. So we should not go and harm the innocents, they would not accept you if you are to harm them."

"You are right," Daenerys seemed to accept, begrudgingly. "We do not want to rain down Fire and Blood on anyone but our enemies."

"Yes, Your Grace," Missandei then nodded at Robb and Aegon, before leaving the throne room. Daenerys continued to walk down the steps, Khal Drogo following her as she came to a stop in front of Robb and Aegon. Robb stepped back, he did not want to crowd in her space whereas Aegon did not move. That only served to antagonise Khal Drogo who glowered down at the shorter, younger man who did not intimidate easily.

"There is much to be done," Daenerys said. "I expect you both to prepare your people for our inevitable return to Westeros."

"It will be done," Robb nodded at her.

"Good," her voice was cool as she looked right at Aegon. "You will sail with me."

"Yes, Aunt," he replied swiftly, however there was clear displeasure on his face.

"Now, excuse me," she said as she turned to take Khal Drogo's arms. "There is much to be done."

"I see why my aunt makes a good queen," Aegon then said as soon as Daenerys had disappeared through the doors with her husband.

"Yes," Robb looked to the man. "You will have to get over your thirst for power, Prince Aegon."

"I believe that to be a little difficult," Aegon rocked back and forth with his feet. "Especially when I have been raised as the true heir to the Iron Throne."

"What matters is that the Targaryens are restored," Robb's mouth tightened. "It is not important who is the true heir."

"Of course not," Aegon began to stroll toward the doors. "Why does the true heir matter when we have a queen who has Dothraki, Unsullied and three, powerful dragons?"

Robb Stark stood at the helm of his ship, watching as his men brought stock onto the ship. They were rewarded plenty of food and weapons from Queen Daenerys Targaryen, that had many of his people singing her praised. He was told that Greatjon Umber was working on a song about Queen Daenerys, Robb could only imagine the crudeness in the song. He placed his hands on his hips, watching as the boxes and crates were taken below deck, to be secured for their leave. He was glad that they would be returning to Westeros, and so soon.

But he was not returning the man he once was. He was not the green boy he had been all those years ago when he had taken to the seas and been labelled the King in the North. He was a man grown, a man who had become a pirate and cause trouble for Westeros from the seas. He was also returning a married man, a man who had taken a foreigner for his wife. There would be many that would be against his wife, as they would be against Khal Drogo. He imagined the Boltons would use his wife and his years at sea as an excuse as to why he as not fit as King in the North – or Lord of Winterfell.

"We are finally going home," he heard a Westerosi accent that was tinged with the accents of Essos behind him. He turned to find his sister leaning against the railing of the ship.

"Yes," he studied her.

"I had never thought I would return there," her voice was distant, almost an echo. "I had thought to leave it all behind."

"As did I," he had also thought to leave Westeros to burn. "But we're heading home, to the North."

"The North," she breathed in deeply. "How foreign it is to me."

"You left when you were a child," he reminded her. Arya had been a girl of ten and two, half of her life time had been away from her family home.

"Yes," Arya wet her lips, pushing herself from the railing and coming to stand beside her brother. Robb gazed down at his little sister who was all Stark, barely any of their mother was in her. Except for her petite figure.

"You know the North will welcome you home," he smiled at her. "I believe our ancestors will weep with joy once we take it back from the Boltons."

"I want to slit that bastard's throat," his sister's voice came out very much like a snarl.

"As do I," Robb leaned forward, placing his hands on the railing as he proceeded to watch his men. "I want to watch the man burn."

"Perhaps we can ask Queen Daenerys for one of her dragons?" He looked over at his sister who was suddenly grinning up at him.

Robb let a grin slide over his own face, "We don't need dragons to make that monster bleed, Arya."

"Good," Arya rolled back her shoulders, "And bleed he shall."

Their bonding over the inevitable death of Ramsay Bolton was not something Robb could have predicted one and ten years ago. Robb often wondered what his life would have been like has his father not agreed to head South as Hand of the King. He would have been married off to a lady, perhaps a Northerner or even a Southerner. Arya… Arya would have been married off, forced to be a lady – his mother would never have stopped. Life would have been simpler, a life of ignorance but simpler.

"Your Grace," a voice said from the stairs that led to the helm. It was a young boy, "There is a woman here to see you."

A woman? "Thank you." He smiled at the boy and then began to head to the stairs. His hands came to the railing and he made his way down slowly. "It is your Queen," he then said to the boy as he passed him. "Wife," he said as he watched his wife hesitantly step onto the deck of the boat.

"Husband," his wife was looking around at all the men who moved around her with crates and storage.

"We are getting ourselves ready," he explained to her. "I find myself remembering much of the North. I am excited."

"I am too," but she did not sound so excited. He almost wanted to laugh, her face had grown pale and she seemed to draw further and further away from the railing.

"That pleases me," he then reached out to grasp her shoulder. "Would you like to move up to the helm?"

She looked up to where he was pointing and blinked slowly, "Arya." She then smiled pleasantly and followed after him, using her arm to steady herself.

"Zhalli," Arya greeted as Robb guided his wife to the helm. He noticed she was unsteady on her feet, but believed that to be due to the fact she was Dothraki. He knew that the Dothraki were like cats, they did not like the water.

"Arya," Zhalli then let go of Robb to reach for the railing, grasping it tightly. "You are also excited to return to your home?"

"Apprehensive," his sister said and he looked down at his wife. Her head was tilted to the side, did she not know the word?

"She is unsure," he then explained.

"Ah," she nodded her head slowly as she came to understand. "This brings unhappiness?" She looked up to Robb for reassurance.

"No," Arya answered, her voice harsh. "No, it doesn't."

"It means there is many things we have left unresolved, many memories that belongs in our home," Robb explained to his wife. "It is a daunting task ahead."

"We will kill those who call the North theirs when it does not belong to them," his wife promised. "As we will kill those who claim the throne of iron from the Khaleesi."

"I feel as if we should toast to those words," a smirk came across his sister's face.

Robb reached out to touch his sister's shoulder, "Will you miss Essos?"

"No," Arya said. "I am not the girl who came to Essos any longer. I am not the girl I was in Braavos either. It is time to return to Westeros."

"I agree," he looked out at the ocean, at the horizon that would reveal Westeros as soon as they sailed. But they would go to Dragonstone first, Robb found himself impatient to head to the North and take back his family home.

"I also wish to see Mother," Arya said, her voice quiet.

There was vulnerability in his sister's voice, it urged Robb to offer his sister more comfort. But he wondered if it would be welcomed, so he only proceeded to squeeze her shoulder in a form of support. Arya looked up at him, only to strengthen her shoulders and step away from him. She excused herself, heading down the steps to the deck of the ship before hurrying off the ship all together and out onto the busy streets of Meereen. Once Robb lost sight of her, he turned to look at his wife who had moved closer to the railing and water.

"I do not like it," his wife said as he drew nearer to her.

"The ocean?"

"Yes," her voice was sharp, "It is dangerous."

"You will be safe on the ship," he assured her. "It is estimated it will be smooth sailing to Westeros. We should arrive in just over three weeks."

"Good," she shivered, "I do not like the thought of not behind on the ground."

"I promise you," he said to her. "If you stay close you will not fall overboard. You cannot swim, can you?" She shook her head, "Then make sure you are close to me at all times. Or at least close to Dacey, or Smalljon."

His wife turned to look up at him, her brows pulled together. There was something unfamiliar in her eyes, Robb could not place the particular emotion, "Did you know your eyes are the colour of the sea?"

"The sea," a grin curved over his features. "I suppose no one has told me that before," when in fact, whores had often complimented his eyes.

"They are very blue," she blinked, leaning closer as if to get a better look at them. "Very blue."

His wife turned away from him, a frown on her face as she continued to look out at the sea. Robb new there was a divide between the two of them, it was a large divide that was yet to be crossed. He would get there, eventually, it took his mother and father a while before they had fallen in love. By that time Sansa was born, three years after himself and soon after the rest of his siblings followed. Robb closed his eyes as his thoughts turned to Winterfell, he was going to take back his home and destroy those who attempted to take it from him.


	19. XIX

**another one.**

 **yeah, so enjoy. I'm trying to build their relationship slowly, I didn't want to throw them both into love. I guess they'd have a tentative friendship, struggling to get to know each other at this moment.**

 **Wow have I written a slow burn? I don't know much I'm shook.**

 **Anyway enjoy this chapter, I really appreciate the support.**

* * *

 **XIX**

 **ZHALLI**

 **SET** to sail in the evening, her husband would be leading one of the ships toward Westeros. Which was why he was spending so much time on his ship, making sure preparations were made for the trip. She did not understand most of what he talked about when he came to discussing the trip, but she spent most of her time on the ship. It was not so frightening, but she was still rather hesitant when she stepped on the deck of the ship. There was dread in the pit of her stomach for when they did finally set sail.

Placing one foot on the deck of the ship, Zhalli frowned when she noticed the deck was bear. It was rare for the deck of the ship to be clear, especially as it had been busy with most of her husband's people. Hands together, she walked further onto the deck of the ship and heard grunting. A frown appeared on her face, she moved toward the grunts and the clash of metal, heading up the stairs toward the helm. Gripping the railing, she moved up slowly steps slowly and peeked over the edge of railing at the front of the ship.

The Smalljon was the first person she saw, he had his back to her and his hair was tied back at the nape of his neck. His torso was bare, she noticed some scars on his pale skin but paid them no mind as she continued to walk up the stairs. He had a sword in one hand and was rotating his grip on the handle. The Smalljon was laughing, a loud boastful laugh that came from deep within his belly that seemed to perfectly match who he was as a person. It was warm and friendly, like the Smalljon.

He moved to the side, revealing his opponent who stood tall, gripping their own sword. It was Dacey Mormont who also had her hair tied back, but instead it was in a tight bun at the top of her head. She wore a loose tunic, not bare chested as most of the men were. Both of her hands were on the sword she held, watching the Smalljon who still continued to laugh. As Zhalli came closer, she did not see her husband who she had originally come to ask questions of, something she had done frequently since she wanted to know more of Westeros.

"Are you not here to train, Dacey?" The Smalljon seemed to taunt.

"Of course I am," the woman relaxed, rolling her eyes.

"Then why don't you attack?"

"Why don't _you_ attack?"

"I don't need to."

"We're training, idiot," Dacey seemed to laugh. Dacey had a rather lovely laugh, it was warm and hearty, fitting of a woman who deserved to laugh often.

"I thought we agreed we were waiting for Robb," the Smalljon shifted his weight from his right foot to his left. "I thought the winner would pay for the other's drinks tonight."

"We are," Dacey's eyes then peered over the Smalljon's shoulder as she spotted Zhalli who was still standing by the stairs. "Queen Zhalli," all humour died on the deck as they turned to look at the Dothraki woman who watched them with serious, dark eyes.

"Continue," she said in a clear, accented voice. "I do not want to stop you from your training."

"See," the Smalljon pointed his sword behind him and toward Zhalli who moved to lean against the railing. "Queen Zhalli says we've got to keep training. I guess she will be the judge of who is the winner."

"Is it to death?" Zhalli asked suddenly, as training could often be to the death for the Dothraki. But that had changed since the Khaleesi had told Khal Drogo it was a waste.

"No," one of the men denied, one who was sitting on the side lines. "That would be a waste."

"I agree," Zhalli blinked slowly.

The man's eyes widened as he realised who he had been speaking to. "Apologies, Queen Zhalli," he then bowed in front of her. "I did not realise."

"You do not need to apologise," she held up her hand. But said nothing else, they needed to respect her. She was her Khaleesi, she could not be their friend.

"Well," he grinned at her. She noticed his mouth was a little crooked, "I think you will enjoy the fight between Lady Dacey and Lord Smalljon. Their fights are legendary, they are both tied."

"They do this often?"

"Very often," he seemed eager to give her any information she asked for. She wondered how old he was, because he could not be much older than herself. "They have a fierce rivalry between them. It is something that I cannot explain, not even King Robb would be able to explain it."

The fight started with the first swing over the Smalljon's blade. Dacey was quick enough to dodge the swing, Zhalli's eyes widened as she watched the two of them. The Smalljon put all his strength behind every swing, which tired him out easily whereas Dacey used her agility in an effort to keep up against the Smalljon's strength. Zhalli was amazed at the two of them, they were very strong and capable – no wonder many wanted to marry them. She was surprised by how they joked and laughed in their fight, as if they did not take it seriously.

She found herself leaning forward, hands resting on the railing behind her to keep her from falling over. It interested her the way they moved seamlessly together, as if they were dancing. As the man had said, it seemed they had been training for years together so it was no wonder they were able to predict movements. Was it no longer challenging? She wondered, as they had trained together for years so it would be a wonder that they were still able to fight without issue. She bit down on her lip as two swords met, clanging harshly in the quiet mid-afternoon air.

"They do well together, don't they?" Zhalli heard her husband's voice and she turned slowly. Her golden eyes meeting his blue.

"It is a dance," Zhalli blinked.

"They've become entwined to each other," Robb shrugged his shoulders. "They've known each other for so long."

"Are they married?"

"No, definitely not," Robb snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised when we take back the North, Dacey goes back to Bear Island and Smalljon marries someone else."

"That is sad," Zhalli was not one for romance and stories, but she believed the two of them held love for one another. And the fact they would not pursue it would be sad.

"That's life," Robb Stark shrugged his shoulders, reaching out to place his hand on his wife's shoulder. "Have you come to ask more questions?"

"Yes."

"Come on then," he motioned for her to follow him. "I'll show you to the cabin you will be staying in."

"We share the cabin?" She asked as she followed him down the stairs onto the deck.

"Yes," he answered as they came around the deck, toward a door under the helm. "Here," he opened the door to reveal the place he normally slept when on the ship.

It was a large room, with a bed shoved in the corner and windows that looked out at the dock. There was a desk in the middle of the room, surrounded by many things he had collected over the years. There was a shelf built into one of the walls, it was like a small room. Robb preferred to be on the ship most of the time, it would be hard when he returned to Winterfell only to leave his ship in White Harbour as Winterfell was unfortunately landlocked.

"This is where we stay?" Zhalli asked as she moved to the desk, running her fingers over the wood.

"Yes," Robb was still standing by the door, he left it wide open.

"It is nice," she looked up at the wooden ceiling. She could hear people moving on it, and figured it was the helm where she had been before.

"It is one of the nicest places to be on the ship," he admitted, leaning against the doorframe. "So what did you want to ask me?"

"When we arrived in Westeros…" Zhalli turned to look up at him, blinking slowly. "Will you find your family?"

"I'll send them a letter I've arrived," he moved further into the room. "But I cannot find them. We need to take back Dragonstone, and then Winterfell. I cannot take time to go and see them, as much as I would like to. I will send Arya to meet with them, if it does not anger her."

Zhalli nodded her head slowly, "Will it be difficult?"

"Not with the dragons, or Queen Daenerys's army," he moved closer to her. "We're not going to lose this battle. We will stop the Lannisters and take back Westeros."

"I understand," she pursed her lips, "It will not be difficult."

* * *

Brushing her fingers through her hair, Zhalli was standing beside her husband as she stared down at his crew. They were all crowded around, looking up at Robb who was standing in front of them. His hands were together and he spoke to them about their home, how they were going back to take it from those who had wronged them. Zhalli said nothing, it was really not her place to say anything. But as her husband turned to look at her, Zhalli stared up at her husband as he smiled at her.

What did he want?

"My wife," he held out his hand to her and she took it, watching him hesitantly. "Would you say a few words?"

"A few… words?" She blinked up at him, before looking out at his people. "What do I say?"

"Something," he shrugged his shoulders, releasing her hand and nudging her forward.

"I am proud," she then said, "To be your Queen. And I will work hard, the North will be free from the men of irons who covet it."

"Here, here!" The Greatjon cheered, many of the men and women in her husband's crew echoing.

"That was good," her husband complimented as she fell back beside him.

"I do not like it," she said quickly.

"You will get used to it," he laughed, pushing his fingers through his hair. "Now come, a feast is prepared for us below deck."

"B-below?" She shook her head, "I do not want to go below."

"The feast will be brought up here," he motioned toward the deck. "But we will be sitting on the deck, there will be some crates."

"I am fine to sit on the ground," she replied quickly. "I sat on the ground often. I am Dothraki."

"I cannot forget," there seemed to be a freshness to her husband. He seemed much looser with his affection and his smiles, perhaps he was excited about returning home? Zhalli studied him as he walked among his people, receiving handshakes and being pulled into conversations.

"You are not the Queen we wanted," a man said and she tensed, turning to face him. "But you are the Queen we have been given by the Old Gods. We would not reject you," the man then bowed to her. "We can only hope you listen to the Old Gods and treat us well."

"I will do so," she vowed as she studied the man.

"Good," he then looked toward Robb. "He has been a good King, despite losing the North. You will not betray us for your Dragon Queen."

"I will not," she was unsure why the man was pressing her. She did not know him.

"Ser," Dacey Mormont crept up beside them, looking down at the man. He was much shorter than her, Zhalli realised the man was almost of height to her. "Well met," she then said and Zhalli frowned.

"Well met, Lady Dacey," the man then nodded at the two of them before disappearing in the crowd.

"You did not know him?" Zhalli asked the woman.

"No, I have not seen him before," Lady Dacey's hair brushed about her face.

"He was odd," Zhalli then said as she blinked up at Lady Dacey.

"Yeah, well," Dacey ran her fingers through her hair. "Though we know you, it will take some time getting used to you."

"I understand," she remembered when the Khaleesi had been brought to their Khalasar. "I am new and introduced to customs I do not know," she rubbed her hands together, "I will try my best to understand."

"That is all we can ask of you," Dacey then motioned for Zhalli to move forward. "Now come, you will sit beside Robb as we feast."

"I know," she knew the Khal and Khaleesi were together most often when with their people. It was to show a sign of strength and unity. If the leaders were strong together, then it ultimately showed that their rule would be strong and prosperous. Dacey smiled at Zhalli who followed her to where the men were crowding around a fire. "That is not dangerous, on the ship?"

"No, it's contained," Dacey shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh," she still did not think it was a good thing to have a fire on a ship made of wood. But she pressed her lips together and moved to the large group her husband was a part of. She sat down beside him, surprised that he had a plate of food prepared for her. "Thank you," the words were foreign as she did not have them in her language, but she still thought it was respectful to say them to her husband.

"You do not need to thank me," he said before turning his attention to the Smalljon.

Would they awaken together, the Smalljon and her husband? Zhalli wondered, she had thought it amusing to find them in bed together. She paused, clenching her hands into fists. The Smalljon had told her that Robb Stark did not lust for the flesh of me, but had he been covering for her husband? Did the two men love each other? She casted suspicious eyes toward the two men, watching as they laughed together. Nothing about it seemed intimate, as she had seen with Khal Drogo and the Khaleesi. But perhaps they had learnt to hide it better.

"What are you thinking of?" A voice came from behind her and Zhalli turned, looking toward the Greatjon who sat beside her.

"Nothing," she said quickly.

"Doesn't seem like nothing," the Greatjon shrugged his shoulders, "But I guess the Queen in the North can have her secrets." He then winked at her and she wondered, did he know of his son and her husband?

"Do the men get lonely on the sea?" She asked the Greatjon suddenly, "For the company of women?"

"We do," the Greatjon grunted. "I, in particular, miss the comfort of my wife. But she would skin me alive if I touched another woman."

Zhalli decided she liked the Greatjon's wife.

"Why do you ask?" He studied her, peering into her eyes.

"There are not many women," she said. "And many of them are like Dacey Mormont."

"Yes," the Greatjon laughed. "No one would touch Dacey without her permission."

She then thought herself being silly, her husband had implied there was something between Dacey Mormont and the Smalljon. "The men do not touch the women?"

"Not without their permission," the Greatjon appeared concerned. "And you do not need to worry, we would never let anyone harm you."

Zhalli was not necessarily worried anyone would harm her. She would look after herself if the need arose, her only worry was that the North would not accept her as their Queen. She was a foreigner and a Dothraki, growing up in Meereen and meeting many foreigners she was not ignorant to what they thought about her people. But then… Khal Drogo would become the Khaleesi's King, he would sit on the throne of irons. They would just have to prove themselves, even if the people were not ultimately happy about the decision in the end. They would have to accept it.

"I would like to say a few words," the Smalljon said and rose to his feet, holding up his goblet. "We thought it dumb for the Young Wolf to turn to the Dragon Queen," cheers rose up in the crowd, "We thought we would be burned alive by her beasts!" Shouts rose up, "But he has proven us wrong! He has shown us that we will get the North back!" The men were loud, "To King Robb Stark, the first of his name!"

"To King Robb Stark, the first of his name!" Voices echoed around the deck and Zhalli found herself watching all the men.

"And to Queen Zhalli, first of her name!" The Smalljon said suddenly and she stared up at him, startled. "She is not the Queen we ever thought we would have. We never thought possible Robb Stark would be married to a foreigner, a Dothraki at that. But she is our Queen, the Queen in the North!"

"The Queen in the North!" The voices cheered around her.

She reached up, feeling something wet on her cheek. She furrowed her brows, a little concerned she was crying. "The Greatjon," she said, "I will be gone for just a moment."

Not leaving her bowl, Zhalli grabbed her food and headed away from the flames. Why had she been crying? That was curious, as she made her way into the cabin she would be sleeping in. She came to sit on the bed, picking up a piece of bread to dip into the stew and scoop it into her mouth. Did they really welcome her? Relief was in her body, she hoped to prove that she would be as good as her own Khaleesi. Zhalli did not want to disappoint her husband, or any of his people.

* * *

The ship rocked as Zhalli stared up at the large, full moon. Stars twinkled around it and she watched the sky, head cocked to the side as the soft waves lapped against the large ship. She preferred to look up at the sky, rather than down at the water as the water made her stomach lurch and she felt uncomfortable. The sea was a scary place, she was dreading crossing the Narrow Sea to head to Westeros. Hearing a creak on the helm, she turned around quickly and noticed her husband was walking toward her.

"Wife," she heard him address her.

"Husband," she watched as he strode toward her, he appeared a little drunk.

"You have been gone since dinner," he said as he came to stand beside her, pressing his hands down on the railing.

"Yes," she watched him, looking at his curls. His hair was not pulled back into his nape, instead it was left loosely and was lit by the full moon above them.

"Where were you?" He then asked her, moving closer as she stared up at him.

"I needed to take some time to myself," she told him. She had not often had time to herself.

"Of course," he nodded his head slowly. "Will you need to take a lot of this time to yourself when we take back Westeros?"

"I do not know," she admitted honestly. "I do not think so. I was just… overwhelmed." Was that the right word for her feeling?

"You do not need to be overwhelmed," he reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You will do well as a Queen."

Zhalli blinked up at him, "I do not know…" she looked down at his hand that was on her shoulder. His thumb rubbed against her shoulder, "What was your mother like?"

"My mother was not a Queen," he shook his head. "But she adjusted well to being Lady of Winterfell."

"She was not of the North?"

"No," he shook his head. "She was a lady of the South. From the Riverlands, ladies from the South are a lot softer and different to our women in the North. I feel that you will fit in well in the North, you are not soft or delicate like one of the ladies my mother would have had me wed."

She pressed her lips together, "Will your mother not like me?"

"I cannot tell you," he then winced. "But I do think that it will take time for you both to get along."

"Hm," she pressed her lips together.

"But I do not get along well with your father, not just yet," he shrugged his shoulders. "I doubt the two of us will get along any time soon."

"You do not need to worry about my father," she shrugged her shoulders. "He will remain with the Khaleesi as he is one of the Khal's bloodriders. As you do not have bloodriders of your own, my father will not come with us to your home."

"Understandable," her husband suddenly reached out, cupping her cheek. "You worry."

"Yes," she admitted.

"You do not need to worry."

"I thank you," she said, still the word was foreign.

"You do not need to thank me," he rubbed his thumb gently under her eye. "I have grown to care for you."

"Care for me?" She winced at the thought, she could say she cared for him. But she did not love him, she supposed that perhaps it would grow between the two of them. A love a husband and wife were supposed to have had not developed between them.

"You are my family," he said suddenly. "You are my wife and I should care for you."

"I do not love you," she said, looking up at him unsurely.

"And I do not love you," he admitted. "But I believe we will grow to care for each other, even more."

"I should hope so," she then reached up, grasping his wrist. "There is much that needs to be discussed."

"Yes," he agreed. "But we will take back Westeros and we can discuss our marriage." He smiled down at her, "Now, perhaps we should be heading to bed now."

"Yes," she then said as she frowned. "I do not like the ocean."

"The ocean is lovely," he then smiled. "How did you change the subject from sleeping to the ocean?"

"I am sleeping on the ocean," she reminded him, pointing out to the dark waves. "The Dothraki do not trust the water. We are supposed to remain on land."

"Well," he shrugged his shoulders. "It will not take too long, if we sail hard it will be a total of three weeks before we get to land. But if we are slow, I would say a moon and a half before we land in Westeros."

"That is long," she frowned as she reached out, resting her hand on her husband's chest. "We will not see your family so soon."

"No," he shook his head. "Unfortunately not. Perhaps my brother will be sent North to fight with us, and we will have Arya with us. But it is best that they remain away from the fighting."

"As you want me to do," she was displeased, her lips pressed together. "I will fight. To prove that I will be a good Khaleesi to them, I will fight for them. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he then slipped his hand into hers. "We need to rest, we leave tomorrow and it will be a long journey."

"Yes," she answered, taking a deep breath.

They entered their cabin and Zhalli headed to the bed, pressing herself into the covers. The bed was much lower to the ground, she wondered if her husband would allow such a bed when they returned to the North?

"I hope to fix Westeros," she heard her husband murmured. "And to avenge my father."

"And you will," she promised, reaching over to grasp his hand. Offering him some support, "We will."


	20. XX

**Another chapter, chapter twenty woo.**

 **So this is the last time they're in Essos, time to head to Westeros.**

 **It's also the last Robb chapter for a while, we'll see the point of view from others for the next few chapters.**

 **But anyway, enjoy thanks my dudes xx**

* * *

 **XX**

 **ROBB**

 **IMMEDIATELY** when he awoke, Robb Stark was preparing the boat to sail. He had climbed up one of the masts, helping to release the ropes to let down the sails. While he and his men were preparing his ship, Queen Daenerys and her people were piling onto their own ships. He watched the crowds of people who gathered to say goodbye to their queen, who cried out in their love for her. He looked up at a loud screech, using one hand to rest over his brow as the dragons circled over them, flying above the harbour and boats.

"Your Grace!" Someone called from below and Robb looked down at one of his men who was waving up at him.

"Ted," he yelled to the man, "What is it?"

"When do we set sail?" The man was his navigator, would spend most of his time on the highest mast watching the waters.

"As soon as the horn blows from Queen Daenerys!" He answered and began to climb down the sail, dropping down to the deck.

"Robb," he turned to look over at Dacey. "There is someone here to see you," she nodded over to the side of the ship.

Ifakko, his goodfather, stood on the side of the ship watching everyone closely. He stood tall, braid over his right shoulder that fell over his front. He was so much taller than most of Robb's men, and his skin was browner than most on the ship. The kohl that covered his eyes made him fiercer, made him appear fiercer as he glowered at the people who passed him. He did not intimidate many on the ship, Robb's men were Northerners or had been with him long enough to know that they did not need to be intimidated. Robb nodded at Dacey and decided to talk to his goodfather.

"Ifakko," Robb said, wiping his hands as he looked up to meet his goodfather's olive coloured eyes.

"Khal Robb," the man's voice grumbled inside his chest.

"Did you need to speak with me?" Robb asked, biting down on his bottom lip.

"I wanted to speak to my daughter," the man's eyes swept over the deck of the ship. "But I see she is not here."

"She is still abed," Robb answered and looked over to the cabin his wife was inside.

"Then I will speak to you," Ifakko met his goodson's eyes.

"What did you wish to speak about?" Robb watched the man.

"I will come to your North," the man said as they stepped off the ship and onto the deck. "I will fight with you, and you will look after my daughter."

"She is my wife," Robb frowned at the man. "Of course I will look after her."

"Good," Ifakko's eyes roamed the deck of the ship. "I will not have my daughter disrespected."

Robb stared at the man, "I will not disrespect your daughter."

"I will know," Ifakko then growled. "I will know if you hurt her, do you understand?"

A smile appeared on Robb's face, crooked, "I know."

"Good," Ifakko then seemed to glower at the cabin where his daughter was. "I will take my leave now," he turned but as he did so, he then glared at Robb. "My daughter will not die. Not on this trip, the water will not take her."

"Of course not," Robb could not lose his wife. They had not been married long, only a few moons. "You should go, we are set to leave Meereen soon. As soon as Queen Daenerys gives the signal we will set sail to Westeros."

The Dothraki male nodded, looking at Robb briefly before turning and heading down the railing and back onto the dock. Robb rolled back his shoulders, a little relieved that he would hardly ever have to deal with his wife's father. The man was strange, very strange for a Dothraki and rather protective of his daughter. Robb turned around, noticing his wife had stepped out of the cabin. She was dressed for the day, hair braided in one long braid down her back. She looked up at the sun, her skin glowing golden under the rays and Robb stared.

His wife was beautiful, there was no denying such a thing. Robb could grow to love her, despite their differences he knew that he already liked her. There was just an awkwardness between the two of them, something he had never felt with a woman. He was not a green boy, he had been with multiple women over his time in Essos but there was something about his wife that was different. He had to be with her for the rest of his life, so he wanted to be gentler and make sure she was well taken care of. He wanted to treat Zhalli as his father had treated his mother.

Before he could go to her, the horn sounded and that was his cue. They were off, he barked orders at his men as he ran up the helm of the ship to place himself behind the wheel.

"Wife!" He yelled as he noticed her confusion, her suddenly sprawl to grab a hold of something as they moved. "Up here!"

He noticed Dacey helping his wife up the stairs, "You will develop your sea legs." Dacey assured his wife as they made their way up the stairs and toward him at the wheel.

"I do not like it," his wife gritted her teeth. Her legs were shaking as she reached out to grab some railing, "It moves… fast."

"Think of it as a water horse," he suggested to her, flashing her a quick grin.

"It is unnatural," she snapped. "We are not meant to be on the water."

"Perhaps it is a good thing there are not more dragons you could ride," he quipped. "I do not think you would like that either."

"Horses are the only acceptable transport," she argued and took a gulp. "Why do we move so quick?"

"The wind," he explained. "But this is slow compared to how we will move on the open sea."

"Too fast," she said as she stared up at her husband.

"Stand beside me," he urged, holding out his hand.

She shook her head, "No." She squeaked, clutching tightly to the railing beside the stairs. She made sure to stay away from the edge of the ship, she did not want to suddenly tumble into the sea when she could not swim.

Dacey laughed, "I did not think the Dothraki could be so frightened of a little _water_."

Zhalli glared over at the other woman, "You do not understand."

"You need to face your fear," Dacey crossed her arms over her chest. "Robb will not let anything happen to you."

Reluctantly, Robb watched as Zhalli rolled back her shoulders. She straightened, glowering over at Dacey before quickly stumbling toward him. He grasped her arm to steady her and she looked over the steering wheel, gazing at his men who were tugging the ropes to make sure the sails were out.

"We'll pick up speed when we get out on open water," he warned her. "I will need both my hands, it might be best if you go back to the cabin."

Unfortunately for him, Zhalli was stubborn. "No," she straightened her shoulders back. "I do not need to go in the cabin."

He heard Dacey snickering behind him and he looked toward his friend, "Right." He then moved her between his arms, so he caged her in. "You stand here." Her back was pressed to his torso and she was facing the wheel while he steered the ship.

"It is not terrible," he heard her say, but he noticed she had gripped the middle of the wheel tightly, her knuckles going white.

"No," Robb couldn't help but chuckle. "Just wait until we get out on the open water," he whistled low as he gazed out at the sea. "Nothing feels better. I never thought I would like the sea so much, until I took it as an act of rebellion after I lost my father."

He felt something on his arm and he noticed his wife had placed her hand on his arm. Zhalli was rubbing her thumb on the inside of his forearm in comfort. She was much darker than him, but he was still tanned from the sun, from days of being out on the water.

They sat in silence as the ship slowly drifted away from Meereen's harbour, a fleet of ships behind it. The first ship Queen Daenerys's, some of Robb's ships were behind hers and added to that was the Queen's large fleet. Robb looked down at his wife for a brief moment, allowing himself to relax as he found himself grateful for a strong wife who wanted to fight by his side. But he pushed the thoughts out of his mind as they crossed into the Narrow Sea. They had much to prepare for in the coming moon.

* * *

Robb had his hands on his hips as he glared at his younger sister. She had climbed up the ship, to spend time up on the highest mast when his man was supposed to be there. She stood in front of him, hands behind her back but completely careless and unapologetic. It made him furious, she knew nothing about ships and she was risking their lives because she was curious? He could not understand what was going through her head, he needed to make sure they got to Dragonstone without incident and he could not if she did not listen to him.

"Arya," he snapped.

"What?" She looked up at him, eyes heavy lidded and bored.

"You need to listen to me," he motioned to the ships behind them. "You can put all those ships and us in danger. You don't know life on a ship, I need you to take me seriously."

" _Yes_ ," she spat through clenched teeth. "Is that all, Your Highness?" She said it so sarcastically he flinched.

"Yes," he pushed his hand through his hair as his sister turned on her heels, storming away from him and beneath the deck of the ship.

Hearing a whine, Robb turned his head slowly to look down at his direwolf who had a pout on his face. Robb smiled, shaking his head as he bent down to rub his hand over Greywind's head. The poor direwolf hated the ship and the ocean just as much as his wife did, the two of them spent much time in the cabin together. His wife managed to stumble everywhere, and in the early morning she had been sick over the side of the ship due to the waves of the ocean. Robb had found her and she had been rather petulant, embarrassed about being caught sick.

"How are you feeling boy?" Robb asked his direwolf, he knew he was getting old and in the coming years he would lose him. But Robb didn't want to think about that.

The direwolf said nothing, "He does not like this." He heard a voice behind him and he turned, looking up at his wife. "I do not like this either."

"I know," he could not help the smile that spread across his lips. "You have told me many times."

"But I would prefer it to riding the Khaleesi's beasts," she looked up at the sky where the dragons were flying overhead.

"I think we all would," he added, rather sarcastically. He pressed his lips together, ready to apologise but she seemed to not pick up on his attitude as others would have.

"King Robb!" Someone called for his attention and he stood up quickly, striding toward the man who had a letter in his hand.

"Thank you," Robb said to the man. "Is the letter from Queen Daenerys?"

"No," the man shook his head. "It is not the writing of the Dragon Queen, I believe it may be a letter from Lady Catelyn."

"Give it to me," Robb held out his hand, eager for what his mother had to say. Would she be pleased that he was returning to Westeros after all this time?

"Yes, Your Grace," the man passed him the letter and Robb took a deep breath.

Cracking it open, he felt himself relax at the familiar scrawl of his name on top of the letter.

 _Robb,_

 _I am pleased to know that you are returning home. But I am less pleased to know that you will not stop at Riverrun on your way to take back the North. How long must a mother wait before she can see her first born? Another ten years?_

 _Still, it pleases me that you are returning and that you will return with Arya. It will be nice to see my children, to be able to hold them in my arms once again._

 _I believe in you, Robb, as your father would surely believe in you. You will get back the North and avenge your father, the Riverlands will be there to ensure the success of you and the Dragon Queen. Please come home to me, I would like to meet your wife and any grandchildren I will have in future._

 _Love,_

 _Mother_

He folded the letter, feeling a weight be lifted off his shoulders. His mother wanted all her children home, but Bran was still mysteriously gone. Did she believe him to be dead? What had Rickon said about him? Pushing the thought out of his mind, he was only grateful his mother seemed open to his wife rather than stubborn and xenophobic as she could be. He folded the letter, heading to his cabin and opening the door, not bothering to knock as he should have. He heard a startled cry and he looked up.

His wife had been cleaning herself in a bath and had not expected anyone to walk in. Robb paused, "Apologies." He then said as his wife sunk further into the metal bath that had been brought up for her.

"You do not need to apologise," she said. "Is there a problem?"

"No," he shook his head as he moved toward his desk. "A letter arrived from my mother."

"Is it serious?" She cocked her head to the side.

"She is just relieved that we are retuning to Westeros," he shrugged his shoulders. "But disappointed we will not come to Riverrun until after we have taken back the North."

"I am unsurprised," Zhalli shrugged her shoulders. "You have not seen your mother in so long, have you?"

"You are correct," he then looked toward the door. "She does not know the man I am today. All she has are memories of a boy," he then cleared his throat. "I will then leave you to your bath."

"Thank you, husband," she smiled at him but he did not notice as he strode toward the door. He then closed the door behind him, looking to the wooden floor of the deck and taking a deep breath.

Robb turned to look back at the door, thoughts turning to his wife. He pressed his lips together, before turning on his heels and deciding to hunt down Greatjon or Smalljon. He needed some sort of a distraction, he did not want to think of his wife in the nude even though he was well within his rights. Though he was not as honourable as his father had once been, Robb still wanted to emulate who his father had been as he still had a case of hero worship for the man. Which meant he would leave his wife alone.

"What are you thinking about there?" Robb heard Greatjon's voice loudly ask his oldest son as Robb came to stand beside them.

"What Westeros will think of the Dothraki," Smalljon couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face. "The delicate, flowery Southerners are going to be in for a shock."

"They'll be praying to their Gods for safety!" One of the men joined in, letting out a roar of laughter. Men joined in on the laughter, seeming to enjoy the idea that the South of Westeros would be terrified of the Dothraki hoard coming with them.

It made Robb wonder what they knew of his marriage, and his wife. He wondered the rumours being spread about her, as they would have been spread about Queen Daenerys and her husband, Khal Drogo. Robb would not find out the stories about his wife or the Dothraki until he landed on the shores of Westeros. His mother had not sent him anything, but he rather doubted that his mother would outright tell him rumours of his wife. He rubbed his hands together as he leaned against the railing, watching his men as they chattered and joked.

"We are excited to go home," her heard Dacey's voice beside his ear. "Relieved, rather. It has been a very long time."

"I know," he sighed heavily. "I cannot wait to be home. I suppose you cannot wait to see your family?"

"I wish to see my nieces and nephew," she smiled. "And my younger sister, Lyanna, has grown into a fierce young woman, according to my mother."

"Perhaps she takes after her sister," a large smile crossed his face.

"Perhaps she does," Dacey couldn't help but laugh, throwing her head back. "And I suppose you are excited to see your family?"

"It has been a long time since I have seen them," he agreed. "I admit I wish to see the type of man Rickon has grown into and to see how happy Sansa is with her husband."

"Ah, the Imp," Dacey nodded her head, remembering that Sansa Stark had fled the capital with her husband. The two of them had taken the Westerlands after Tyrion had murdered his father.

"I would have helped her leave the marriage," Robb rubbed the back of his neck. "But as she is with child it would be impossible to annul."

"You cannot make decisions from here," she said, "You should wait until we're back on Westerosi soil."

* * *

His wife was humming under her breath as she stared down at the map of Westeros. She could not read Common, but she seemed fascinated with the map of Westeros. He often caught her looking at it, running her eyes over the map and occasionally running her fingers over it. Robb leaned against the entrance to his cabin, arms crossed over his chest as he just watched his wife. He stepped forward, closing the door behind him and her eyes turned to look at him immediately.

"Husband," she said, her voice accented as she stepped back from the map.

"Call me Robb," he encouraged her as he moved to slip out of his coat. "I will take a bath."

"Yes," his wife nodded as she moved toward the door, calling for one of his men to bring a tub and water.

"You may leave, if you wish," Robb suggested, his eyes watching her as she flickered about the room.

"I am fine," she said as she moved toward the bed, sitting herself down on the edge. "I do not mind if you bathe in front of me."

He nodded, clenching his jaw rather as his men brought in the tub filled with water. He turned his back to his wife, showing his scarred but tattooed back.

"Did it hurt?" He heard his wife's voice and he looked over his shoulder at his wife who was staring at his back.

"Did what hurt?" He then rolled his shoulders back, "You mean the tattoo?"

"Yes," she then cocked her head to the side. "Why a dragon? You are a wolf, are you not?"

"I am," he smiled. "But dragons are interesting creatures. And I like them, I appreciate their beauty."

She was close behind him, pressing her hand to the dragon and he froze. She ran her finger along the lines, along the tattoo. She traced it and he let her, waiting for her to move back. But she did not move back, she then moved up to touch one of the larger scars on his back. A scar about ten centimetres long, moving diagonally across his left shoulder blade. Her finger ran across the scar, her finger soft as she moved so close her could feel her breath across the back of his shoulder. It was comforting.

Turning slowly, he peered down at his wife who looked up at him. "Zhalli," he said her name softly, reaching out to touch her chin lightly.

"Robb," she swallowed.

He leaned down, watching at her but she did not move away. Instead she seemed to gravitate toward him. The two of them kissed, their lips pressing together as his wife's hands came to rest on his chest. Robb then brought his arms around; one hand went to rest onto her cheek and moved into her brown curls that hung loose. His other hand moved to cup her hip, their torsos pressed together.

They moved slowly against each other, he rubbed his thumb against her hip bone and pulled back. "You do not mind?"

"I was worried," his wife admitted suddenly.

"Why?" He furrowed his brows together. He had never had a woman worried about his prowess before.

"I thought you preferred the company of men," his wife admitted.

Robb faltered, "What?"

"We have not lain together," she said, keeping her eyes on his. "But you seemed close with the Smalljon. I thought the two of you were together."

"No!" Robb cried and could not help but laugh, "I do not care for the company of men. I was trying to be honourable, I did not want to force you into something you did not want."

"Oh," his wife cocked her head to the side. "You did not want to claim your rights as a husband?"

"I did not want to force you," he gritted his teeth. "I wanted to be like my father."

"You are a good man," she reached up to pet his chest lightly.

"I try," he admitted. And he did, he tried to be the good man that his father had once been all those years ago.

"You do not need to try," she stared up at him, brown eyes encouraging.

"I appreciate your faith in me," he then lifted one of her hands in his. He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"You are a good man and husband," she said to him. "You have not forced me."

"I would never," Robb denied. "I believe there is nothing worse than a man who forces himself on a woman."

"I agree," she said as he placed her hand on his shoulder and reached up to tuck one of her curls behind her ear.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he said to her, trailing his fingers from her ear and along her jaw. He then tilted up her chin.

"Yes," she agreed easily, staring up at him imploringly.

"Good," he rubbed his thumb against her chin and leaned down.

Their lips pressed together, softly as one of her hands curled into a fist on his bare chest. Her other hand wrapped around his waist as their lips moved against each other. Robb allowed his hand to move from her chin to rest on her neck, rubbing his thumb against her neck.

They moved backwards, Robb sitting himself down on the edge of the small bed in the cabin. His wife sat on his lap, her legs on either side of his thighs as they continued to kiss. One of Robb's hands was in her hair, the other wrapped around her waist as he pulled Zhalli even closer to his body. One of his wife's hands was resting against his cheek, the other was wrapped around his neck as they continued to kiss. It was a relief, to take some time just to be by themselves while the world moved outside of them.

Once they were finished, his wife rested her cheek upon his chest and her finger traced patterns above his heart. One of Robb's arms was curled around her back, also tracing patterns up and down her spin. His other arm rested underneath his head, his hand cupping the back of his head. He stared up at the ceiling as the ship continued to move, rocking backward and forth with the movement of the waves. He heard his wife sigh and mutter something in Dothraki, he looked at her in concern as she stared at her fingers that were tracing.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked her quietly.

"No."

It did not sound convincing, "If you were not ready…"

"It is not that," she said as she pushed herself up, brown curls falling over her front. "I was just thinking."

"Oh," Robb nodded his head, taking a deep breath.

"You do not have to worry," she assured him.

"I was not worried," he admitted as the ship continued to rock.

He wondered if he would ever come to love her. While he liked her, her wondered if he could ever possibly devote himself to his wife as his father had been devoted to his mother.

Silently, Robb slipped from the bed and grasped his pants. Her pulled them on, lacing them and turning around to face his wife. But she rolled over, her back to him as she faced the wooden wall of the cabin. He opened his mouth to say something, to at least reassure her or something. But he shut his mouth, sat down on the end of the bed and pulled on his boots. He then threw a tunic over his head and exited the cabin, shutting the door softly behind him as he stepped into the darkness.

The ship was swaying, though some of his men were up to make sure they did not blow off course, it was quiet. Robb made his way toward the edge of the ship, placing his hands on top of the smooth railing and gazing out at the calm waters. He breathed in the sea air, closing his eyes and letting himself relax. He was tense, even though he should have been relaxed after the eventful coupling he had with his wife. But he feared her would never be relaxed around her, too worried on how he was supposed to treat her.

Supposed to be like his father.

Years ago he had rejected being like his father, so why did he put pressure on himself to be like his father as a husband? He pushed his fingers through his hair, opening his eyes as he gazed up at the full moon that hung in the sky. He cleared his throat and let the air brush his curls around his face. Robb decided he would not go to bed, and if he did he would take one of the empty beds below deck.

He needed his space, just for a while.


	21. XXI

**OK!**

 **Another chapter, far out I really like this chapter but that's just because I'm kinda obsessed with the way I'm writing Tyrion and Sansa not to toot my own horn.**

 **I don't have much more to say other than thank you all for the reviews, favourites and follows it means so much to me that you're all enjoying this.**

 **Also please check out Whispers of Winds which I have just posted, it's on my profile and I hope you all enjoy it. Once again it's very AU but completely different to this story, so I hope you guys enjoy it. xx**

* * *

 **XXI**

 **SANSA**

 **THE** child within her had to be large, as her stomach protruded outward and she still had time before her birth. Resting her book on top of her stomach, her eyes rolled toward the door her husband came through with his spectacles perched on his nose. He was looking down at a letter, he had his nose buried in the thing the whole morning and she found herself rather curious. He had yet to tell her anything, which was rather unusual as her husband was not one to keep secrets.

Tyrion Lannister no longer believed in keeping secrets.

"Tyrion," Sansa tried to shift to get more comfortable. But it was impossible, with the more her belly grew the more uncomfortable she became.

"Is there something the matter?" He asked as he looked up at her through his glasses.

"What is the letter about?" She demanded, "You have not put the parchment down since it arrived this morning."

"Oh," he pressed his lips together tightly. "Right," he then cleared his throat. "It is from your brother."

"Which brother?"

"Rickon," he frowned, "I have been trying to decipher his handwriting all morning. But even some words I admit I am stuck on."

"Give it here," Sansa urged her husband, leaning forward eagerly. "Why would Rickon have written you a letter?"

"It was addressed to both of us," he explained, ignoring the scathing look his wife sent him. "I gather he has only just begun to learn to write, because they look little more than little scratches to me."

"Hm," Sansa said as she gripped the letter in his hands, gathering down at the letter. "Well, he has not regarded your title."

"Has he not?" Tyrion settled in beside his wife, peering over her arm to get a better look.

"Yes, here," she ran her finger under the writing, laughter on her face. "He has called you the Imp. I had long forgotten the nickname."

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "I do not understand how you could forget."

"It is not something I think about," she narrowed her eyes, peering closer at the page. "It reminds me of his writing from when he was so young but…" she cleared her throat. "I suppose there was not much of a requirement for writing when he was beyond the Wall." She cleared her throat, "Here, it says that he has met Lord Robert Arryn and our cousin is getting married."

"The Lord Robert Arryn?" Tyrion nodded his head slowly, "I thought him a sickly child."

"He was," Sansa reached to rub her belly as the child inside shifted. "But perhaps that has changed. Nevertheless, we have been invited to his wedding to Lady Bethany Blackwood, the daughter of Lord Tytos Blackwood."

"Perhaps this is a way to strengthen our alliances before your brother returns with Queen Daenerys," her husband offered his thoughts.

"Perhaps," she agreed, pressing her lips together. "I must send apologies, I cannot travel as my stomach is so large. You will have to go in my place."

"If you cannot go I should not go," Tyrion said to her, "Perhaps Bronn should go in our place?"

Sansa laughed loudly, "My mother would be unhappy if you were to arrive, but if you were to send Bronn in our place…" she shook her head. "I am afraid my mother would be very insulted, and I would not hear the end of it for a long time."

"Perhaps you are right," Tyrion rubbed his chin. "Should we send a gift instead?"

"I do not think Mother will like that either," Sansa pressed her lips together. "Oh, no here," she pointed. "Rickon said we do not need to come."

"Is that what he said?" Tyrion asked as he settled closer to his wife.

"Yes, he said we are not needed, and Mother does not want to risk my pregnancy," Sansa couldn't help but smile. "He called me San," tears began to well up in her eyes suddenly and they slipped over her cheeks.

"Sansa…" Tyrion reached out to take her hand, offering her comfort.

"It's just…" she sobbed. "It is what he used to call me when he could not pronounce my name right…" A loud, harsh sob came from her mouth.

"Please," Tyrion said to her quietly. "Cry as much as you need to."

The letter dropped from her hand and her other hand slipped from Tyrion's. She placed her hands over her eyes as she cried loudly, and she just could not stop herself from crying. It came over her and it was overwhelming, partly due to missing her family and the other part due to the child she carried inside her. Her body shook with her tears and Sansa felt overwhelmed, as she let one of her hands dropped to her stomach.

"Wine?" Tyrion suggested from across the room and she looked up at him, eyes filled with tears.

"Please," she said as she sniffed, grabbing a handkerchief and wiping her eyes.

"Here," he said as he crossed the room, offering her to the goblet.

"Thank you," she smiled at him as she sipped on the goblet of wine.

"I don't want to make you upset," Tyrion said as he sat beside her.

"You are not making me upset," she said as her shoulders shook. "It is just… I suppose I should blame the baby?" She laughed as she rubbed her stomach lightly. The child within her fluttered, moving.

Tyrion laughed, "Perhaps. Have you spoken to the Maester?"

"Why do you think I am on bed rest?" Sansa raised a brow, "I am pushing it sitting on this sofa."

"Ah," Tyrion nodded his head slowly. "Now, I should excuse myself."

"Can you get me some parchment?" Sansa asked, "I should like to send a letter to Rickon."

"Of course," Tyrion slipped away from her and headed toward the desk. Once he had collected what she asked for. She held out her hands and he handed it over, "I should go."

"Yes," Sansa smiled at him. "Perhaps I will see you later?"

 _Dear Rickon,_

Sansa wrote, her writing a little messy as she was not resting against a desk.

 _I am relieved to hear from you, I must say I cried as I had not expected a letter from you. Do not laugh or mock me, I do not think I could bear it. Yet, I wished to write to you as I wish to know my little brother once more. Whilst I do wish I could see you again, I fear that I am unable to as I am much too large to move._

 _Please do not laugh, I fear childbearing is something that I had not known would take a lot out of me. I remember Mother, when she was carrying you and how much joy she had. Perhaps I should not speak of this with you, you would not understand, and I do not think I should burden you with my thoughts on carrying children. Perhaps I should write to you of something you would enjoy, I could regale you with stories of Bronn and my lord husband. But I fear that would only encourage you and mother would not be too happy._

 _I do not believe she would be happy at all._

 _I fear that has only made you curious, perhaps my husband would tell you? I am sure that there will be much for you to discuss. Perhaps, again, I should not encourage this as I do believe Mother would not be pleased. But what can be done? You are a man grown and have lived beyond the Wall, Mother cannot expect to coddle you as if you were the young boy she left so long ago. I do not believe her to be so, she certainly did not coddle Robb._

She would not send the letter, Sansa realised as she slowed her writing and stared at the parchment. Perhaps she had better start a journal? The way she had spoke her mind… it would do her no good to send such a letter to Rickon. Folding the letter, she pressed her lips together and pushed herself to her feet. It was a struggle, she had to roll almost so she could place herself on her feet. She almost imagined the Maester displeased that she was on her feet, that she was moving around rather than resting.

Feeling a twinge in her back, she winced and moved her free hand around to rest on her back. She then proceeded to rock back and forth, at least trying to eliminate the twinge in her back. It was impossible, and not going to happen, she needed rest. But what she really wanted was the child gone from her womb, she wondered if it was how her mother had felt. Feeling a little ill, she left the letter on her desk and then turned, waddling back toward the large, four poster bed in the middle of her private chambers.

She settled herself in, preparing for rest.

* * *

Sansa woke to a ripple pain that began in her womb and she let out a groan. Unfortunately, she slept in separate chambers from her husband so she could not reach over to wake him and warn him. Instead she attempted to shift, only to let out a groan. But she did open her mouth to call for someone, to yell out for help. But what came out of her mouth was more of a scream as she felt a wet pool beneath her.

"Lady Sansa," she heard the gasp of one of the Lannister girls from Lannisport who had become one of her ladies. "What is wrong?"

"Get the Maester!" She demanded with a cry, squeezing one of her hands into a fist around the sheets between her. Her face grew read as she scrunched up her nose and continued to let out little whimpers.

She continued to lay in pain, wetness beneath her as she panted and looked to the door. Her husband strode in, worry on his clear, ugly face as he stared up at her. Bronn was behind him, the man's face paling when he observed what was going on.

"Lady Sansa," her husband said as he moved, grasping her hand. She immediately squeezed in pain and he gritted his teeth, "The child is coming?"

"I believe so," she panted out through breaths.

"Fuck," Bronn said carelessly. "I don't wanna see that Tyrion."

"You do not have to see it," Tyrion said over his shoulder. But he stared into the eyes of his wife, watching as she grimaced and winced at the pain in her womb. "You are in pain?"

"Yes!" She let out a scream, "Of course I am in pain!"

Tyrion pressed his lips together, "Apologies wife."

"She is giving birth?" The Maester demanded as he opened the doors and strode in. The previous Maester had been let go when Tyrion had taken over Casterly Rock, instead he had been replaced by a much younger Maester. This Maester was handsome and closer in age with Sansa, he also had different medicinal suggestions that were almost scandalous and would make him the laughing stock of the chain if other Maesters found out.

"Yes, clearly man," Bronn grunted and then grimaced when Sansa let out another cry.

"I want the room cleared," the Maester said and a few women followed him. A Septa and another woman Tyrion did not recognise. "You too Lord Tyrion," the Maester said. "It is inappropriate for the man to be in the bathing chamber."

"Go," Sansa gasped out as she looked to her husband. She could see the anxiety on his face, his mother had died in childbirth to him after all. "My mother was strong, I will survive this."

"Lady Sansa is right," the Maester looked down at the Lord. "While it may be a little early it seems the child is ready to come out. I would suggest that you leave, to give your wife space. We must be careful, even if she is strong."

"Ah, yes," Tyrion nodded his head slowly.

She knew her husband was anxious, Sansa thought as she winced through the pain. There was a pressure in her womb and it bothered her, but she wished that she could reach out to comfort her husband. But he left the room quickly, his skin white and his scar looked even more prominent. It was likely he was worried she would die, but Sansa did not believe that she would die. The Old Gods would not take her now, not when she still had so much to live for.

They did not take her when she was in King's Landing, so they would not take her when she was safe.

"Lady Sansa," the Maester said to her. "I would offer you milk of the poppy, but it is not good for a woman who is birthing."

"I do not need it," Sansa grimaced as she still felt pain within her abdomen. Her child wanted out, it was so painful but she wanted what was best for them. "I do not want my child to be put into any risks by taking milk of the poppy."

Really they did not know the effects on milk of the poppy while a mother gave birth. Some mothers took it and they survived, other mothers were given milk of the poppy for the pain and they did not survive. Sansa remembered her Septa telling her once that to be a good wife she would bear the pain of childbirth, so she would. But the pain was unbearable, she scrunched up her face as she felt another stabbing pain in her lower abdomen and she gritted her teeth together tightly as her hair began to stick to her sweating forehead.

"Lady Sansa," the Maester said quietly. "We will need to move you from the bed to the birthing chair."

"So soon?" She panicked and tensed up, blue eyes fluttering open quickly as she peered at the man, fright in her eyes.

"Not so soon," he peered between her legs. "You are not yet ready to push the child. But once you are ready you will need to be moved."

"I know," she gasped heavily around a cramp that struck through her whole body. How she wished she had her mother there with her, Catelyn would be a calming, welcoming influence.

But Catelyn was in Riverrun, planning a wedding between Robert Arryn and Bethany Blackwood. It would have been dangerous for her to travel, the Westerlands were still not safe as King Joffrey's forces still attempted to get back the seat from his uncle. Most of the Lannisters in Lannisport and Casterly Rock had declared their allegiance to Tyrion, but there was still the sneaking suspicion that they would turn on them at any moment. Sansa did not want to risk the life of her mother, she did not want to lose anymore family than she already had.

The pain became unbearable in the hours that passed and she panted, breathing heavily and would scream every now and then. Did women truly believe that childbirth was beautiful? Sansa thought it wretched and it hurt, she did not know how her mother could have done such a thing five times. But the Maester and the ladies around her were encouraging, even though she wished to curse them. And curse she did, she cursed the Old Gods, her husband and the Maester for the position she was in. How she wished childbirth was a much easier task than it was.

"I am going to need you to push now, my lady," the Maester said as he peered between her legs. She wished to kick him, he had no right to gaze upon her there.

"Push!" One of the women echoed.

So she did, gritting her teeth tightly and pushing with all her might. She could feel the discomfort between her legs, "Again!" The Maester cried, "The babe is crowning!" So she pushed again and she felt it move, sliding out from between her legs and she threw her head back, chest rising and falling as she gasped.

The babe cried and Sansa looked, relieved her child was crying. "What is it?" She panted as she stared up at the Maester.

"A boy!" He cheered after cutting the cord that kept the babe attached and passing the babe off to one of the ladies. "Now I will need you to keep pushing, my lady. You must remove the sack that the babe was encased in."

How she wished to hold her child. "Can I hold him?" She asked but could still feel cramping, it was less obvious though.

"No," he answered. "Not until the sack has been removed from your womb. So Sansa gritted her teeth and did her duty, feeling similar pressure between her thighs, "Oh." The Maester said and Sansa panicked, eyes opening quickly.

"What?" She cried, "What is it?"

"Another child," he murmured. "I will need you to push now, Lady Sansa! And quickly!" She did as was asked, feeling the same pressured as she gritted her teeth and let out a scream as she pushed. The babe slid free from her and the Maester held the babe up, it let out a gurgle but did not cry as the babe before it had. "A little girl, my lady."

"A girl?" Sansa could not help but smile in relief.

Once the rest of the birthing was over and she was cleaned up, the babes swaddled and pressed against her breast, she felt tired. She kissed the tops of their soft heads and watched as they were carried from her chambers. Sansa felt her eyes beginning to shut and she moved her hand to her stomach, that was still rounded as if she was with child. It felt empty, but her heart was full due to the two babes she had birthed that still needed names.

But before she could name them she wanted to sleep.

* * *

"Sansa!" She heard someone cry, hands on her shaking her body. "Sansa!"

Her eyes fluttered open and she groaned, "Is there a problem?"

"I was worried," she heard the relieved voice of her husband and he moved away from her. "When you would not wake I…"

"Tyrion," she could not help but smile at him drowsily, reaching over to grasp his small hand in her own. "You should not have worried, my mother survived five births."

"But I killed my mother," was his weak argument.

She opened her mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by the door opening. "Is Lady Sansa awake, my lord?" The Maester asked from the door.

"Yes," Sansa answered, pushing herself up against her pillows. She winced, uncomfortable within her abdomen but she wished to see her children.

"Good," the Maester seemed to calm down. "I had worried you would pass on through the night."

"I have not," Sansa was pleased. She wanted to write a letter to her mother, to show her strength she had within her.

"I am pleased," the Maester said as he came to check over her. "You are improving well."

"May I see the children now?" Sansa turned to look at her husband, "They are yet to have names, correct?"

"Correct," Tyrion nodded his head. "They are small little things, but the Maester has checked them and neither of them have been born with my curse."

"Your curse?" Sansa frowned down at her husband, "It is not a curse, I would not mind if my children were born as a dwarf."

"But you do not know a life of suffering as a dwarf," Tyrion then looked to the Maester. "Have the two nursemaids to bring in the children, it is time we named them, do you think?"

"I wish to hold them," Sansa admitted. "And I wish to feed them from my own breast. Is that possible, Maester?"

"It is not proper," the Maester looked hesitant. "But if that is what you wish, then I do not see harm coming to you."

"Good," Sansa smiled. "Northern women always feed their children from their breast, and I am a woman of the North."

"Lions and wolves," Tyrion commented from over by the window. "I suppose that does make two very strong children."

Sansa smiled, "Then they will survive, the Old Gods will make sure of it."

The children were carried into the room in the arms of two nursemaids. They wriggled and squirmed, Sansa holding them both in her arm. Her son was fat and plump, with pink cheeks and no hair atop his head. Her daughter had dark hair on her head, that had a red tinge to it that her older brother Robb's hair had once had. Sansa had not thought that she could ever create such perfect children, but as she gazed down at them she knew the Gods—old and new—had blessed her union with Tyrion Lannister with the children in her arms.

"What would you name them?" Tyrion asked. "Eddard, after your father? Joanna, after my mother? I do not imagine you would want to name them Tywin or Joffrey."

"No," Sansa shook her head. "I will not have my children with names of those who have passed, of those with such tragic fortune."

"Then what will we name them?" Tyrion asked as he came closer, climbing onto the bed to peer closer at his children.

"Hopefully not something as fucking dumb as Tyrion," Bronn's voice came from the open doorway and Sansa could not help but snicker.

"No, we will not call either of them Tyrion," Sansa looked down at her son and then her daughter.

"The little one should be called Bronn then," the sellsword said as he strode further into the room. The Maester looked as though he wanted to protest but he did not. "It's a good, strong name."

"I am afraid I will not call him Bronn," Sansa looked to her husband. "What do you think about Mathew?" She asked, "Mathew Lannister?"

"That is a strange name," Tyrion frowned at his wife. "Where have you heard it?"

"I have not heard it before," Sansa said. "But I think it suits him. "Do you not think?"

"Mathew of House Lannister," Tyrion nodded his head. "And for our girl?"

"I want her to have a strong name," Sansa pursed her lips together. "Alivia," she then decided. "Alivia Lannister."

"Good, strong names," Bronn then decided to put in his own opinion. "They aren't no Bronn, but they'll do."

"I'm glad to have your approval," Tyrion rolled his eyes. "But they are strong names, and I'm sure our children a strong dynasty for the Lannisters."

"I sure hope so," Sansa smiled down at her two children. "And I am sorry Bronn, I am sure your wife some day would be willing to name a son after you?"

Bronn snorted, "There ain't no way I'm getting my balls shackled to some woman. No offence, milady."

"I will not take offence," Sansa tinkled with laughter. But it made her children shift in their sleep, their faces scrunch up and she quietened herself. She could almost imagine her mother's disapproval at the sellsword being in her chambers and speaking in such a way to her. But Bronn had become a close friend, she could not imagine him not with her or Tyrion.

"Off with you," Tyrion then raised his hand. "Go to the whorehouse or make my soldiers come to me with complaints tomorrow, whatever you do at night."

"Of course, milord," Bronn mockingly bowed and exited the chambers with a sweep of his hand.

"That man did not bother you, Lady Sansa?" The Maester looked carefully at Lord Tyrion, before staring at her imploringly.

"Ser Bronn is fine, Maester," Sansa nodded at him. "In fact, you may also go. I will have my husband call for the nursemaids when I am ready for the children to be taken to the nursery."

Sansa and Tyrion spent the remainder of their day staring at their children. They studied the little lines of their faces, watching them as they would feed and set them down to rest when it was needed. Only when it was time for Sansa to take her evening meal, were the children gathered by nursemaids and taken to the nursery. Sansa was propped up against pillows as she ate, her husband sitting behind the desk in her chambers, several candles lit with one of his hands resting on his head.

"I cannot seem to pen this right," he said. "It does not seem to be right."

"It is not too hard to tell my mother I gave birth to twins," Sansa said as she sipped at her water.

"Your mother intimidates me, wife," Tyrion reminded her.

Sansa laughed, "Then you do not have to pen a letter to her. I will do so."

"No, I can write it," Tyrion pressed his lips together. "Do I send a letter to King's Landing? Now that is a question."

"I do suppose if you wish for torment," Sansa said. "Joffrey has been unable to give the kingdom a much-needed heir. I am sure it would enrage your sister to know that her little brother has managed to secure the Lannister dynasty."

"I will send a letter to my uncle instead," Tyrion suggested. "Kevan will send out the letters all around Westeros. There is no need for me to even lift a finger."

"Why ever would the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands need to lift a finger?" Sansa teased as she grasped her tray and moved it to the table beside the bed.

Tyrion slid off the chair and headed toward the bed, climbing on top and moving to sit beside his wife. "You have blessed me," he said, reaching out to clasp her hand, petting it lovingly.

"And you have blessed me," Sansa leaned down to press her lips to his. "I am pleased with my husband."

"Even though you would not have chosen me?"

"We both know I was a foolish little girl," she said dryly, rolling her eyes. "But I am pleased, much more pleased than I ever would have been with a knight."

Tyrion grinned roguishly as he moved to cup her breast, "Are you now?"

"Please," she then said, grimacing in discomfort. "We are not yet allowed. I am not ready yet, when the Maester allows then we will lie together. Though, I do not hope for more children. Not now."

"I agree. We have more pressing concerns to worry about. Like your brother sailing to Dragonstone with the Dragon Queen."

"What?"


	22. XXII

**Another Cat chapter, yeah. Enjoy it. I've gone back to uni so yay, but I'm so tired right now and I have work soon so rip me.**

 **Anyway enjoy the chapter, thank you guys for all the support.**

* * *

 **XII**

 **CATELYN**

 **LADY** Bethany Blackwood was a beautiful young woman, light red-brown hair that fell just below her shoulders. She stood in the middle of her chambers, running her hands over the gown that had belonged to Lysa Arryn when she had married. But Lysa had been shorter and slighter than Bethany, so the dress had to be fixed to ensure that it would be appropriate for the wedding day.

"It'll do," Lysa Arryn said from where she stood by the door.

"Lysa," Catelyn turned to chastise her sister, a scowl on her face. "Bethany will look beautiful on her wedding day."

It could not be said if it was true or not, Bethany was a plain girl. She had no remarkable features that made her stand out, which was rather a shame. But it was not as if Robert Arryn could be picky, he was not the most handsome man even though he had become stronger as he had grown. But they would make a lovely couple, the two of them seemed to get on well enough that Catelyn was secure enough in her matchmaking skills that she would focus on others around her.

Until she could get her hands on her children.

Rickon could not be the one to be married first. He was a boy of seven and ten, which was not unusual, but he was still wild. He would be too much for one woman to be able to cope with, Catelyn could not see any woman being grateful to marry her son who still had too much wolf blood in him for Catelyn's comfort. If she could annul the marriage between Sansa and the Imp… she pressed her lips together. Unfortunately the marriage could not be annulled, not when Sansa had consummated the marriage foolishly.

"Lady Stark," Bethany said, her voice quiet as she turned to look at Catelyn. "May I step out of the dress now? I do not want it ruined before the wedding."

"Yes, of course," Catelyn motioned to the maids to help the girl out of her dress.

"I am nervous for the wedding night," Bethany then said. "What is to be expected of me?"

"Oh," Catelyn blinked. She had forgotten the girl had no mother to guide her. "You do not need to worry, you only need to follow your husband's instructions when it comes to the marriage bed, he will guide you."

Lysa scoffed, "Of course you would say that, Cat."

"Lysa," Catelyn narrowed her eyes sharply. "Come with me," Catelyn then turned to smile at the girl who paled, looking hesitant. "We will see you later, Lady Bethany."

"Of course, Lady Stark," but the girl's honey coloured eyes were wide as she looked to the woman who would become her goodmother.

"You do not need to give the girl false hope," Lysa scowled at her older sister as the two of them headed down the halls. "You should know that the first time in the marriage bed is not the most pleasant experience."

"But do you?" Catelyn challenged, Tully eyes flashing. "You gave your maidenhead to Petyr, did you not? You gave yourself over in lust, it must have been a pleasant time for you."

"Cat," Lysa's voice was quiet and her eyes began to well with tears. "Please do not."

"Apologies," Cat let her shoulders slump. "I did not mean to attack you for your mistakes as a young girl, Lysa."

"You do not have a right to bring that up," Lysa's shoulders shook. "Not when Father chose such a suitable match for you and look where it got you. Whereas I… I," she sobbed and then turned, hurrying away from Catelyn.

While she should feel bad for how she had treated her younger sister, Cat felt more frustration than ever before. She wished she had Ned with her, he would laugh, take her hand in his and kiss the back of it. He would call her foolish for starting a fight with her sister, telling her how much he loved her and how the two of them would come to make up in the end. In her memories she could almost feel him near, his breath on her neck and his warm arms around her.

But as quick as she dreamed him up, he was gone, and she was left with a chill. Cat did not want to cry anymore than she had in the passed one and ten years that had gone since his head had been removed. With the years that passed her anger did not cool, her lust for the Lannister's blood only seemed to worsen as time grew on. Unfortunately, with Robb gone it was unlikely that she would be able to have her revenge as quickly as she wanted it. She was stuck waiting – which she loathed.

"Lady Catelyn," she heard a voice say and she turned her head slowly. "A letter has arrived."

"A letter?" Catelyn perked up, "In my rooms?"

"Yes," the servant then cleared their throat. "Apologies, it is two letters."

"Two letters," her eyebrows rose. "Thank you, off you go now."

Two letters she hoped were from Robb and Sansa, two of her children she would like to shake but pull into her arms. The two of them were stubborn and did not seem to want to listen to her, the Stark family was separated. But she could not blame her children, if she had anyone to blame it was herself and her husband. Ned never should have gone South, and she should never have attempted to fight the Lannisters.

Once inside her chambers, Catelyn shut the door and hurried to the desk where the two letters lie. Both of them had _Mother_ written across the top and she hastily opened the first.

 _Mother,_

Sansa's familiar, neat scrawl comforted Catelyn and she breathed a sigh of relief.

 _I have written to inform you that my husband and I will not be able to make it to Cousin Robert's wedding. I have just given birth to twins._

Twins!

Catelyn had to stop herself from shrieking in delight.

 _As you are reading this letter you now know that I have survived the birth, it was a hard birth but I am grateful to have survived. The Gods looked out for me and have looked out for my children, as the two of them lived through the night and through the several days that have followed. They have Northern strength._

 _Their names are Mathew and Alivia, I did not want names of ghosts for my children. I wanted strong names, names that did not belong to others…_

Catelyn lowered the letter once she had finished, pleased her daughter had managed to survive childbirth and so had her children. There was relief within her, because if she had lost Sansa… pushing the thought out of her head, she then reached over to grasp the other letter that had been left out for her. It was a much smaller letter, but the scrawl was familiar to her also. _Robb_. Her heart started to thud, would her son finally be coming home? It made her excited, perhaps they could finally take back the North.

 _Mother,_

 _I am finally returning to Westeros. First we will learn in Dragonstone and then I will sail to the North. The North will be secured before we make an attempt on King's Landing and the rest of Westeros._

 _There is not much more I can tell you. We have just left Essos and I do not know when this letter will arrived to you, or if we will be in Dragonstone. I hope this pleases you, Mother, that I will finally take back what rightfully belongs to us. We will finally be able to go home._

 _Robb._

Catelyn could not help her relief, she lowered the letter down on the desk and smiled. Finally, her son would be in Westeros and he would take back the North. Rising to her feet, she smoothed down the front of her gown but frowned suddenly when thoughts turned to the wife her son had married. She had not been able to choose her son's wife, which left her rather worried as his wife was also a Dothraki. She would not understand their customs, and she wondered if the girl would even be a good enough queen for her son. There was a part of her hoped they had not consummated, so she could annul the marriage.

"Lady Catelyn," she heard a voice call and she turned her head slowly, looking toward the door. A young serving girl was standing near the door, her hands behind her back.

"Yes?" Catelyn asked as she stood, watching at the young girl.

"Lady Roslin wishes to speak to you," the girl cleared her throat. "It is about the wedding."

"Of course," Catelyn rose to her feet, skirts falling around her ankles. "I will go to her now, thank you." The girl nodded and turned, slipping out of the door.

* * *

"Cat," Roslin said affectionately, a smile wide on her cheeks. She was glowing, her stomach had grown even bigger. Pregnancy suited most women, but women like Catelyn and Roslin it just seemed to suit more than most.

"How are you feeling today?" Catelyn asked as she strode into the room, moving to grasp the outstretched hand of her goodsister. She squeezed the offered hand and then took a seat beside her.

"Well," Roslin let the hand Catelyn had held fall to her protruding stomach. "This pregnancy is by far the easiest I have known. I am grateful."

"The more children you have the easier it is to carry them and birth them," Catelyn agreed, nodding her head.

"How are you feeling, Cat?" Roslin asked, "You appear rather strange."

"I have received letters from my two eldest children," Catelyn placed her hands together on her lap. "Sansa has given birth to twins, Mathew and Alivia Lannister."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Roslin's cheeks stretched out into a smile. "I must write a letter to her, congratulating her. It is a good thing, Cat." Roslin said when she noticed her friend's tight face, "Your daughter has survived her birth to twins. She always was a strong one."

"I know," Catelyn was relieved. Her daughter had survived birthing twins, which was known to kill many women who attempted it. She was proud, but the fact her daughter still remained married to a Lannister overshadowed her joy. "Robb is returning to Westeros."

"Oh!" Roslin turned to Catelyn, surprise on her face. "Are you not happy?"

Catelyn continued on as if she had not heard Roslin, "They will land in Dragonstone, take Dragonstone and then he will sail North. He plans to take back the North from the Boltons, I should write to the Northern lords to tell them of my son."

"Do you worry they will not accept him back?"

"They should," Catelyn snapped. "He is the rightful heir to Winterfell. A Stark belongs in Winterfell, always."

"But he has been gone for long, Cat," Roslin hesitantly reminded her goodsister. "What if they feel abandoned? How will he appease them?"

"I will write to them, to appease them," Catelyn took a deep breath. "My son was young, he had lost his father and he did not go to war. Instead he abandoned them, but they must understand that he is ready now."

"I hope they understand, for your sake, Cat." Roslin smiled sadly, "You deserve to return to Winterfell, and bury your husband in his crypts."

Catelyn almost let out a sob, but she held it back. Ned's remains had been returned to her by Brienne of Tarth under the orders of Jaime Lannister, who, according to Brienne, had been punished severely by his nephew – losing his right hand, his fighting hand for his crime. His remains were buried in a shallow grave, marked with his name but it was not the same. He needed to be buried among his ancestors in the Winterfell crypts, only then would be rest in peace.

"I know, there is relief within me," Catelyn finally said as she reached up to place her hand over her chest. "However, I am still concerned and wary."

"That is acceptable, the North has grown to know the cruelty of Roose Bolton and his bastard," Roslin's mouth pressed together in displeasure. But there were tears in her eyes, for all those who suffered. "One of the minor lords lost one of his daughters to the Bastard."

"He did?" Catelyn should not have been surprised. The Bolton Bastard prayed on the vulnerable virgins of the North, using them for his sick games.

"I feel for my sister," Roslin finally said. "Poor Walda, she is much too delicate to be married to such a cruel man. But she sends letters to me, not often. Each of her sons have died suspiciously, but not her daughters. She worries for her daughters however, especially as they age around the Bolton Bastard. She does not know what he will do to them."

"Then Robb must liberate the North and take the Bastard's head," Catelyn clenched her hands into fists. "Only then will the North feel truly safe."

"And he will do so, I believe in him," Roslin smiled at Catelyn. "He is finally returning to Westeros. There is hope."

"But he returns with the Dragon Queen, to place her on the throne," Catelyn pressed her lips together. "He is doing entirely the opposite of what his father fought for."

"But perhaps this Dragon Queen is what is best for us," Roslin shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps she is not what is best for us. But I believe anything will be better than the Lannisters, they are starving the smallfolk and even cutting off us nobles. I cannot stand for it, Lady Catelyn."

While the smallfolk in the Riverlands, Vale, Westerlands and Dorne were not suffering quite as much as those in the North, Crownlands and the Stormlands. They often heard of the mass burnings of smallfolk that had starved to death, who had killed and eaten their neighbours just because of their sheer hunger. It sickened Catelyn daily, she did not see how the bastard on the throne could allow such a thing to happen. Perhaps it was a good thing her son was on the side of the dragons, perhaps she would help the people.

As she helped the slaves and smallfolk in Essos.

"I am sure it will work out in the end," Roslin assured Catelyn. "The Gods would never allow it."

"It does not feel like the Gods have been listening for a long time," Catelyn finally said. While her faith in them was strong, doubt had crept in over the years.

"I am surprised to hear you say such a thing," Roslin said. "You have always reminded me to turn to the Gods for support, and I have. Why have you suddenly lost faith?"

"Because I cannot believe they would allow all this to happen."

"But they allow us to have our own choices," Roslin shook her head. "It is not them who are allowing this, but ourselves by making these wrong choices and not heeding their warnings."

Catelyn looked to Roslin who had become so religious in her later years. She was a little surprised at the words that came out of her goodsister's mouth, but nodded her head in half-hearted agreement. Taking a deep breath, she rose from her seat and smiled down at Roslin who looked up at her in confusion. The woman's brows were pulled together as she stared up at Catelyn.

"Where are you going?" Roslin asked as she reached over to place a sweet tart in her mouth.

"I think I will go to find my son," Catelyn finally said. "I have much I need to discuss with him."

"They call him the Wild Wolf," Roslin informed Catelyn. "The Blackfish said he is much like the Lord Brandon Stark used to be." There was no more pain when Brandon's name was said, but there was still a sadness that he had not lived a full life. That he had died at the hand of the Mad King, demanding the release of his sister and watching his father die in front of him.

"My uncle has arrived?" Catelyn asked, ignoring the rumours of Rickon.

"Yes," Roslin smiled. "He has grown rather grumpy in his old age, the children have said, but I do believe he has been spending most of his time with Rickon, and even the Lord Robert Arryn."

"I will go to them now," Catelyn reached out to grasp her goodsister's hand. "Thank you Roslin, I will see you at dinner. Yes?"

"Yes," Roslin groaned and reached down to rub her belly. "I do so wish that dinner would come sooner."

Catelyn let out a laugh, her hands slipping from Roslin's as she turned and headed out of the small parlour room she had been inside. Finding her son, the Blackfish and Robert Arryn would not be difficult. The men would be training, comparing their different sparring ways and complimenting each other as fools often did. Rickon reminded her so much of Brandon that she wondered if there was anything of her or Ned within him – but his childhood had been cruel to him, and he had been raised by Wildlings.

It was a wonder he was not worse.

It made her sad, knowing she had not the opportunity to raise her two youngest sons. Bran was still out in the unknown and her heart ached for him, Rickon (or the Wildling who had returned with him) had never told her where her son was. They claimed he was far away and unlikely to return to her. That just made her heart ache, but with Robb returning to Westeros she thought that perhaps all her children would return to her once Winterfell was taken back.

Perhaps they would all be a family again, and Ned could finally rest.

* * *

"Mother," Rickon said as soon as he noticed her coming toward them.

"Rickon," she smiled at him as he came toward her. The two of them did not embrace, they only stood awkwardly and watched each other.

"Cat!" The voice of her uncle Brynden Tully distracted her and she turned her head quickly, looking to the big man who looked much older than what she remembered.

"Uncle Brynden," she said, gazing up at him. "I am relieved to know that you are well, surprised that you have returned to Riverrun."

"I could not keep myself away, knowing one of my great nephews would be wed," he clapped a hand on Robert's shoulder. "And it was time that I returned home."

"It is a relief," she smiled at him. "Rickon, my son," she then turned and looked up at her son who stood so tall. His head blocked out the sun, but she still had to squint when she stared up at him. "How are you today?"

"Well, Mother," he answered, his eyebrows then pulled together. "Is there a problem you have?"

"No, I have no problem," he then frowned at her. "Is there something you wished to speak to me about?"

"Yes," she placed her hands together in front of her abdomen. "However, it is something I can say to all of you. Your eldest brother, Robb, is finally returning home." She waited for their reactions, receiving no obvious reactions she continued. "He is returning to Westeros with the Dragon Queen."

"Bran said this day would come," Rickon suddenly said, a grin of relief appearing on his face. "I must speak with Osha." He turned on his heels suddenly, running toward the keep. He left his family members watching his back in concern, Catelyn the most as her lips parted.

"That is a relief," Robert Arryn finally said. "Robb Stark has been gone for too long. It is high time that he returns to face the consequences of his actions."

While Catelyn did not wish to put it that way, she supposed Robert Arryn was right. Robb did have to face all he had left behind, he still had to win back the Northern lords and much of the Riverrun. Some would have lost faith in him, where she did not as she was his mother. Catelyn believed in all her children, she only hoped they would all return to her someday.

"I am sure Robb Stark will do all he can to get back the seat that belongs to him, belonged to his father," the Blackfish seemed to have faith in Robb Stark. It gave Catelyn hope that everyone else would believe in Robb the same way her uncle did, the same way she wanted to.

"I am glad that you have faith in him, Uncle," Catelyn said as she stared up at the man. He had gotten so old, but she could not say that she was surprised. He was her uncle who was getting on in years, but he was still a warrior.

"It is not a simple question of faith, Cat," Ser Brynden Tully rolled back his shoulders. "I have seen many capable men throughout the years, and while there are only rumours of the Young Wolf – I trust him. I believe that he will help get rid of the sickness the Lannisters have infected Westeros with."

"He will," Rickon said suddenly and Catelyn turned to look up at her youngest son. "Bran told me Robb would arrive and the North would be free once again. But there is still much to be done after."

"Of course there is," Catelyn nodded her head. "Your brother arrives with the Dragon Queen, she will still need to be helped to ensure that Westeros bows down to her."

"You speak of her as though she is a conqueror," Lord Robert Arryn pressed his lips together. "When, in fact, she is the rightful heir to the throne." It was the first time he had shared his opinion on the Targaryens.

"She does have the attitude of a conqueror, nephew," Ser Brynden rubbed his chin. "She has liberated much of Essos, saving slaves and those who are disadvantaged. Perhaps she will be good for Westeros."

"Perhaps not," Catelyn rubbed her hands on her dress. "She does not know how Westeros works."

"I am sure Robb will be guiding her," the Blackfish had a positive outlook on his oldest nephew with the Dragon Queen.

"And she will not be ruling alone," Rickon's eyes widened as he remembered more of what Bran told him.

"Of course, she will have her Dothraki King," Catelyn snorted. "But I do not know how either of them will manage to understand Westeros in the slightest."

"He is her consort, not her King," Rickon's voice was sharp as he remembered. "Bran said there will be two kings, two who will rule with her to ensure Westeros's success in the future, and our safety."

"Do you know who these two kings are, nephew?" The Blackfish attempted to pry from Rickon who frowned.

"No, Uncle," Rickon shook his head. "Bran never revealed that to me, I am afraid I do not think even the gods revealed that to him."

"Surely by now it has been revealed," Catelyn sighed, reaching up to rub one of her temples. "It would be much easier if Bran would return to me."

"He cannot, Mother," Rickon's eyes were wide. "He cannot."

It was such a vague thing to say, but by the fright in her son's eyes she would say she believed him. So she nodded, "So be it."

"How is Jon Snow?" Ser Brynden Tully suddenly asked out of nowhere. It left Catelyn startled as she turned to blink rapidly up at her uncle. "Do you have any contact with him?"

"No," she said, pursing her lips together. "I have never had contact with him since he left to serve in the Night's Watch. I think that is for the best."

"You cannot keep punishing the boy for his father's mistakes, Cat," Brynden frowned at his niece. "You cannot hold such hatred for a boy who is unlucky enough to be the bastard of Ned Stark."

"I will do as I wish," Catelyn jerked her chin up. "You do not understand."

"Of course I do not understand," Brynden Tully shook his head. "But I do know Ned Stark would want you to treat the boy kindly. He would want you to know what he is up to, you cannot punish him for Ned's mistakes."

"Who else am I to punish?" Catelyn could not help but snap at her uncle, curling her hands into fists. "I do not wish to speak of this any longer. You do not have a say in my relationship with the bastard."

"Mother," Rickon cleared his throat. "Is it not time you forgive Jon? Robb will want him away from the Night's Watch when he returns to Winterfell, you will have to see him daily."

"Rickon," Catelyn's voice was sharp. "I do not wish to speak about this with you either. The boy cannot leave the Night's Watch, he will remain there forever unless he wishes to have his head removed."

There was a slight edge to her voice and none of the men standing before her decided to challenge her. Catelyn only shook her head and turned on her heels, determined to get away from their judgements. No one else seemed to understand Jon Snow and what a sore point he was for her. But within her heart, she did not think there was any room for him or any room to forgive her husband about him. Instead she would learn to live with it, and having Jon Snow as far away from her as possible helped.

So Robb could not allow him back into their lives, she would not allow it.


	23. XXIII

**Sorry for the wait on the update.**

 **I kinda forgot about this chapter, I hope you enjoy however.**

 **Thank you xx**

* * *

 **XXIII**

 **JON**

 **A** raven arrived in the early afternoon. With it came a letter addressed to Jon, who took the letter to his private chambers and opened it. The writing was familiar, scrawled in writing he had not seen it since the last letter Robb had sent him. It was from his brother and he was relieved, he leaned back in his seat and rested the letter down on his desk. He had not yet read it, he was worried that he would be told that Robb was not returning to Westeros. But he still needed to know, he needed to know what Robb was up to.

 _Jon,_

 _By the time this letter arrives to you I will be on my way back to Westeros._

There was relief within him at the news that Robb would be returning to Westeros. He did not want to deal with Roose Bolton any longer, or the rumours surrounding Ramsay Snow. The North was in true danger, and it needed to be saved. Jon could not do it, not when he had become Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. If he did so, he could be killed for abandoning his post.

And he did not want to die. So he read on.

 _We will land on Dragonstone, to take back the ancestral seat of Daenerys Targaryen. It is then planned for me to head North and take back Winterfell, to take back my ancestral seat. That way we will have more of a footing when it comes to taking back Westeros. With the Riverlands, the North and Dorne together we will take back Westeros from the Lannisters._

Leaning back in his seat, Jon pressed his hands together. His thoughts were attempting to process what was written in the letter. Robb's sudden determination to save Westeros and the North was big of him, and it was a good thing. Jon had heard so many things, so many had escaped to Castle Black seeking refuge from the Bolton's. If Robb was successful in returning to the North, Jon would not be able to take sides even though he so desperately wanted to. From the side lines he could offer support, however, in any way he could.

"Lord Commander," he heard someone say at the door and Jon lifted his head. Gendry Waters was standing awkwardly in the open doorway.

"Gendry," Jon let his hands fall to his desk. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I wanted to have the chance to speak with you," Gendry said as he cleared his throat and strode further into the room. He had purpose on his face, until he came to a stop right in front of Jon's desk and his face slipped.

"What about?" Jon asked as he forgot Robb's letter and looked up at the man in front of him.

"I need more materials," Gendry finally said. "We are running low and there is not enough to create enough weapons and armour for all those who are in Castle Black."

"We do not have enough?"

"We do not."

"That is concerning," Jon finally said as he rose from his seat. "Why are we not getting enough?" The question was mostly directed at himself, he reached up to shove his fingers into his black curls and pressed his lips together tightly. "Has the latest shipment not arrived?" Jon turned the question directly to Gendry.

"I do not believe so," Gendry rubbed his large hands together. "You would have to check with the others to know for sure."

"This is a problem," Jon clasped his hands together. "You are certain?"

"Most certain," Gendry nodded.

"Then," Jon nodded his head. "We need to deal with this."

Jon left his chambers, Gendry following closely behind him as they made their way down the galley. Wildlings and men of the Nights Watch mingled amongst each other, thick snow covered the grounds of Castle Black as Jon made his way quickly down the stairs. He immediately found Samwell Tarly who was standing with Gilly amongst their children and the wildling children they took care of. Jon gazed at his friend who was holding his child in his arms and speaking calmly to the children around him.

"Sam," Jon called his friend and his friend jerked his head up.

"Jon," Samwell then turned to place his child into Gilly's arms. "Excuse me," he said to them before turning and striding up to his friend. "Is there something I can do to you?"

"Gendry told me materials have not arrived," he motioned to the large man standing behind him. "Is that true?"

"It is true," Sam nodded.

"And you have not told me?"

"We were unsure whether or not the supplies were caught up on the road," Sam pressed his lips together. "I've sent out riders to check if the carriage has been caught by raiders or scavengers."

"This is not good," Jon finally said, shaking his head. "We need these supplies. This winter is going to be a long and harsh one, and I do not think we can travel South as it is likely the Boltons will attempt to grab us."

"The riders should be back soon," Sam then turned his attention to Gendry. "Is it just blacksmithing supplies?"

"No," another voice answered and one of the women from the kitchens strode forward. "We are running low on food and grain, we will not make it through the winter at this rate."

"This is a problem," Jon placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "If it is not scavengers who have taken our supplies, this is something more."

"The Boltons would not attempt to cut us off, would they?" Gendry suddenly asked, frowning at the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. "They have to send us supplies, we're not on any side of the war."

"But Jon has declared himself on one side, you see," Sam explained. "By allowing the Wildlings in he's declared himself an enemy of the crown."

"It is not as if the Boltons have any respect for the Lannisters," Gendry snorted.

"But the Lannisters allowed Roose Bolton to take the North," Jon muttered. They had to, it would not have been so easy had the Lannisters not allowed such a thing to happen. They had to be behind it, it was the only thing that made possible sense to Jon Snow. But he had no answers, he received new men who were supposed to take the black but he did not receive any news. It was frustrating and it let them vulnerable, and if the Boltons were trying to cut him off he would need to do something about it.

"What should we do?" Sam asked Jon who placed his hands together and pressed his lips together tightly.

"We need to do something," a woman's voice pressed and the they turned. "One of our people were attacked," Val pointed to a man who appeared to have lost an arm. "Here," she threw down the lost arm at Jon's feet. "It came with a message."

Jon knelt and lifted the limb, where a note had been pinned to the flesh. It was rather disgusting, but he could lament on that later after he read the note. Tearing it from the hand, he lifted the bloodied note to his face. The handwriting was messy and hard to read, Jon squinted as he attempted to read the writing.

"'Dear Snow,'" Val quoted the letter as Jon struggled. "'Think you can allow those disgusting Wildlings passed the Wall? Oh no, no, no! What would your father think? Oh! He cannot! He's dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! You think you are some sort of King, Snow? Impossible! You will be dealt with, I do believe my dogs love the taste of Stark blood – no matter if it is a bastard!'"

"Signed, Ramsay Bolton," Jon nodded his head. "He has been legitimised?"

"Roose did it out of desperation," Sam answered. "Ramsay is his heir."

"The man is a nutter," Val shook her head. "And he already cut up one of our men!"

"I know," Jon looked at her. She was infuriated, blonde hair loose around her shoulders and eyes out for blood. "But if we start a war I may be killed for dissent."

"What about us?" One of the Wildling men perked up, "We could fight, and we would not be punished."

"But how would the rest of Westeros begin to trust you?" Jon asked, "They would claim you as savage Wildlings and look for any excuse not to allow you South of the Wall, even for your own safety."

"Then we do nothing?" Val demanded, her voice rising. "We just wait for them to pick us off one by one until our numbers are depleted? Some Lord Commander you are Snow!" She turned on her heels quickly, storming away from him and her men soon followed.

"She's terrifying," Gendry finally said. "But what are you going to do?"

"I really do not know," Jon muttered. He was in a dilemma.

* * *

Jon Snow sat astride his large horse, waiting for his men to catch up with him. His hair was tied back in a knot at the nape of his neck, his large coat perched on his shoulders. Most of his men were made up of men who had taken, or been forced to take, the black. They shifted into single file behind him as they moved away from Castle Black. He wanted to get out there, see if he could find more information or even proof that the Boltons were behind why they were not receiving materials.

"Lord Commander!" A voice called and Jon watched as a man a few years younger than him road up to him.

"Albett," he nodded at the man who came toward them. "Is there something wrong?"

"Emrick is not well, my Lord," Albett kept up his pace beside the Lord Commander. "He has almost fallen off his horse."

"Escort him back to Castle Black," Jon urged the man who was a little older than him. "We do not need men who are ill and unable to perform their duty. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Lord Commander," Albett nodded and turned, urging his horse back down the line of men to the middle.

Jon straightened his back as he continued to move away from Castle Black, through the forest. He was cautious, waiting for a sudden attack or even for a rider to appear suddenly. He wanted proof that it was the Boltons, he was desperate for it. If he received proof he was not sure what he would do, perhaps he would force Roose Bolton to take the Black which he could do. It would not be the justice he wanted, as the man had taken Lord Stark's seat, but it would be enough.

Ghost came bounding from the woods, muzzle covered in blood from his hunt. "Ghost," Jon nodded at his direwolf who suddenly turned and trotted forward a bit. The direwolf then turned to look back at Jon, urging him to follow with his red eyes. "Halt!" Jon called suddenly, holding up his hand and stopping his horse.

"What is it, Lord Commander?" One of the men called from behind him.

"Ghost has found something!" Jon called back to his men, he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as he followed his direwolf.

Some of his men followed close behind him as they moved through the thick snow, following the white direwolf who almost blended in to the snow. But he did not blend in fully, there was blood on his tail and his paws which allowed Jon to get a clear sight of the direwolf. They continued to move, hands on their swords as Jon looked around every so often just in case of an attack. But nothing came to them as Ghost suddenly came to a stop, throwing his head back and letting out a loud howl.

Jon Snow removed himself off the back of his horse and took in the scene in front of him. It was a massacre. A carriage was on its side and a body poked out of the inside, a head had been removed from someone's body and kicked yards away. Blood soaked the snow-covered ground and Jon moved closer to the massacre. Ghost was looking back at him with red eyes that were all knowing. It had to have been the Boltons, or at least those loyal to them, who else would have stopped the carriage from arriving at Castle Black?

"What sort of sick fucker!" Jon heard Tormund Giantsbane's voice declare loudly. The Wildling had insisted on coming along for the ride, as he always did.

Jon had once asked him if he would like to become a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Tormund claimed he did not want to give up fucking and nor did he want to serve a Southern King, ever.

"It's our men!" Jon called to his men who slowly stepped down from their own horses and made their way around.

"It's Ewan!" One man called faintly as he looked down at the head.

"What are you going to do, Lord Commander?" One of the men asked Jon as others scoured the scene.

"I am going to demand answers," Jon clenched his hands.

"How are you going to do that?"

"Do we have the whereabouts of Roose Bolton's camps?" Jon asked, looking to each of his men. "Do we know if he has ridden out to any of them lately? It seems that I am going to have to ride up to have a discussion with the man."

"He should be near the one closest to the Umbers," one of his men answered. "Do you think he could have done this?"

"Who else would have?" Jon finally said as he turned back to survey the bloody scene, shaking his head.

It was awful. Those men had not deserved to lose their lives to a Bolton. Jon grimaced as he looked at one of the men who had his skin flayed. It was the mark of the Boltons, it had to be Roose or Ramsay. Clenching his hands into fists, Jon turned on his heels and stalked back to his horse who shifted. He swung himself onto the back and looked out at all his men who continued to scour.

"Move out!" He demanded.

They obeyed, heading back to their horses and falling back in line behind their Lord Commander. Ghost looked back at his companion before heading further into the forest. Not that Jon minded, Ghost would meet back with them when they were closer to Roose Bolton. Jon gripped his reins tightly and pressed his lips together. It would be a form of vigilante justice, but there would be no one to behead him as no one was loyal to the king. Jon could take matters into his own hands, and he was going to.

For his family, for the Starks.

They rode on, through the thick forest closer to one of the encampments of Bolton men. They had been set up after the Boltons had taken the North, they were there to ensure no one got out of line and there was a heavy Bolton presence in the North. Jon could only imagine that it felt suffocating to the smallfolk of the North, but he had not learnt much about the camps since they had been set up. He did not tend to venture South, and neither did the Wildlings or his men.

Jon did not know where Ghost had gotten to, but he knew his direwolf was somewhere safe, scouring the forests. Ghost would be able to get himself out of any dangerous situation, it was his men that Jon needed to worry most about. Not all of them were trustworthy, some could betray him at any moment if they so desired. It was what he worried about, confronting the Boltons, one of them could entice his men over to their side for even the slight promise of a whore. It took all of Jon not to leave the men he did not trust behind. But if they were left behind it would show that he did not trust him.

He needed all the support he could get. Becoming Lord Commander at such a young age had not been easy. Not all of his men had trusted him, not all had wanted a greenboy leading them. Slowly he had gained their trust, slowly he had managed to become a Lord Commander worth following. Jon was proud of himself, he was also proud of what he had achieved in the years that he had been Lord Commander. Mainly creating a strong alliance and bond with the Wildlings.

"Lord Commander!" One of the men shouted again and Jon turned his head slowly, looking to his men who had all suddenly stopped far behind him. In fact, Jon was so far forward.

Frowning, he turned and urged his horse back to his men. "What is it?"

"L-look," one of the lads pointed a shaking hand toward a tree.

Jon stepped down from his horse and made his way toward it. The sight horrified him. It was a young woman or girl, strapped to a tree with her arms above her head. She was _nailed_ to the tree. But what really made Jon's stomach turn, was the fact that her skin from the neck down had been removed from her skin and her guts were open, her innards spilling out onto the snowy ground beneath her. The ground was blood soaked and Jon did not want to step too close. But he had to, there was a note nailed to her fleshy chest that was covered in blood also.

"Sick fuckers," one of the men spat at the ground as Jon lifted the note to read.

It should not have surprised him, but for some reason it did. And it made his stomach curl.

 _Bolton Land. Keep Out._

* * *

They rode hard, passed the dead girl against the tree and Jon hoped they would soon find the camp near the tree line. Once the trees became less dense, Jon held up his hand to urge his men to move more slowly. He gripped the reins as he moved, coming to stop at the treeline. He could not help but let the smirk cross his face as he noticed serval tents gathered around, and the flag of the Bolton men flapping from a make shift pole in the middle.

They were much too obvious, but it worked for Jon.

Sliding down from his horse, he looked over to his men. "We will wait until night fall," he told them, "We will then storm the camp. Do you understand me?"

"Do we kill?" One of his men asked.

"If provoked," Jon wanted to ensure there was no senseless dying. "Our main goal is to check if Roose Bolton or Ramsay Bolton are within the camp and capture one of them. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Lord Commander!" They said together, their voices carrying before Jon pressed one finger to his lips and shushed them.

"We need to be quiet," his voice was but a whisper. "We do not want to go out into a battle with them, not yet."

"Why are you capturing the man?" One of his new recruits asked, "You are Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. You are not supposed to be involved in such Southern things."

"My duties have changed," Jon told the man. "Ever since they cut off our supplies and killed those men who did not deserve to die. And who will execute me? The Lannisters will not venture North. It is our duty to stop the North from falling into ruin."

None of them really seemed to understand, but he let them gather it was because he was raised in the North and had been the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark. Jon would let them think what they wanted, all he wanted to do was give the Boltons some pay back.

"You may return to Castle Black if you wish," he told the men. "If you do not believe you can do this."

"I will stay," someone from the back spoke up. Slowly there were murmurs of agreement around his men.

"Good," Jon straightened his shoulders as he turned to look at the camp. "We need to ensure that we can stop the North from descending into madness, the way that the rest of Westeros has."

"What do you mean?" Someone demanded.

"The smallfolk are starving," Jon reminded them. "They are being punished just for their existence, and for them being in the way of lords." Jon shook his head, "It is not fair for the smallfolk, we need to protect them from those who want to harm them. Ramsay Bolton uses young smallfolk as target practice, we must stop this."

When night began to fall, Jon and his men crept closer to the tree line. They could hear quiet murmurs from the camp not too far from them, but they could not invade until all was silent. Jon's heart pounded in his chest as he witnessed time pass, the men who went to sleep in their tents and the large tent that was still kept guard. The two guards standing outside the tent would need to be killed, they would only get in the way and there would be no other way to make sure they did not alert the entire camp.

Jon did not want a battle, not yet.

"When do we go?" Tormund Giantsbane whispered in Jon's ear, "Now?"

"We wait," Jon held up his hand. "When the last man has gone to sleep we move silently."

"What do we do with any guards?" One of the wildlings called quietly. "Surely we'll have to kill them."

"And we will," Jon assured them. "But our priority is to not be killed and to capture Roose Bolton. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Lord Commander," many of his men said in a unison and Jon turned to look back at the encampment.

The moon grew higher in the sky and Jon looked up at it, staring at the fullness of the moon. It was then he heard howls and they came from all different directions, one how stood out to him as he felt it within his soul. It was Ghost. Jon then nodded and turned to his men, lifting up Longclaw and motioning for his men to move. They moved quickly and silently, crouching down as they crossed the field toward the tents. Jon looked up as Ghost also came hurrying toward them, his muzzle covered in blood. He nodded at his men who moved quickly, attacking men who were on guard duty.

They covered the mouths of the guards, stabbing swords through their throat or slicing their throats with daggers. None of them had time to react as they were taken down by men of the Night's Watch and Wildlings combined. Jon's group worked fluidly, almost without any issues as they moved through the camp and closer to the big tent. One man did create issue when he stood on a slumbering man who woke up suddenly, rising and moving to grab his sword only to be put to death by a Wildling's sword.

Jon moved toward the tent and watched as his men disposed of the two guards who were standing out the front of it. He nodded at his men before stepping inside the tent. Immediately, Roose Bolton rolled over and grasped his sword, holding it high as he stood and levelled it with Jon who only held Longclaw at his side.

"I would not try that if I were you, Lord Bolton," Jon warned the man. "I do not think you would be quick enough to stop me."

"And who are you?" The man sneered, "A bandit out for gold?"

"No," Jon straightened his shoulders back. "I am Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"Jon Snow?" Roose Bolton snorted, "Of course it would be Ned Stark's bastard to put an end to me."

"I am not here to put an end to you, yet, my Lord," Jon never forgot his titles, even in his threats. "But I am here to make it a lot easier for Robb Stark to take back Winterfell."

"My bastard will never relent his hold over Winterfell," Roose Bolton sneered.

"And I will never let the North fall to men like you again."

"You are not the King in the North, Jon Snow," Roose Bolton reminded him. "You are a lowly bastard who became the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. How does it feel to know you will be beheaded for this act?"

"Lannister soldiers will never set foot in the North again," Jon reached for the man. "That I vow to you."


	24. XXIV

**Wow I have not updated for a hot minute, I am so sorry but I have been super busy with uni and stuff and suddenly changing my degree.**

 **Also I just reread this chapter and omg what have I done to Margaery. Of course, as always I am sorry if you do not like Margaery's character or what is going on in her life as of now I'm sorry but I'm not changing it.**

 **Anyway it's my birthday so my gift to all you guys who have reviewed and read is another chapter.**

 **Thank you xx**

* * *

 **XXIV**

 **MARGAERY**

 **IN** darkness of the dungeons, Margaery placed her hand against the wall and shuddered. It was her punishment, to be left in the lowest level of the dungeons to make her way back. Unfortunately, her husband had ordered every single prisoner tortured and every candle lit. This meant Margaery had to walk in the bright out of the dungeons, witnessing the violence inflicted against the prisoners. It made her sick, her stomach curled, and she wished someone would protect her. But no one would go out of their way to defy their king to protect their queen.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" A woman screamed, sounds of her screams would echo in Margaery's nightmares.

"Your Grace," one of the torturers greeted her as he finished up, wiping his hands down on his apron.

Margaery nodded in acknowledgement, her eyes sliding passed to the lifeless body on the slab in front of the man. Was the body truly dead? She could not tell with all the blood, the bones revealed. They had to be dead, she could not imagine how anyone would be able to survive such a thing. Her stomach was protesting, she turned and left quickly so she would not have to witness.

It was all because she had miscarried again. Joffrey wanted to punish her, to teach her a lesson, he claimed. He thought she shirked her duty, that she took moon tea to ensure that she lost the child. But such was a lie, a lie fabricated by his ill mind or fed to him by those who wished to depose her as queen. Margaery would never take moon tea even though she wished it, she knew just how valuable her womb was. Perhaps it was the gods punishing her for her greed all those years ago, perhaps that was why none of her children survived.

"Your Grace," she heard a familiar voice address her and she looked up. Ser Jaime Lannister stood, looking down at her. Golden hair falling passed his shoulders, still handsome well into his forty years.

"Ser Jaime," she cleared her throat, "Have I been punished enough?"

"You have been punished enough," he assured her as he held out his arm.

"Thank you," her voice was hoarse.

"I am going to need you to shut your eyes, Your Grace," he told her. "You do not wish to see."

"But I have already seen so much," how she wished she could have closed her eyes. "What would be the point in closing them now?"

"Perhaps you are right," Ser Jaime mused. "You have already seen so much hurt and darkness in your life."

"It is hard to be protected from it," she could not help but laugh sadly. How her family had tried, tried to improve her station by making her the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But they had only thrown her into the worst life she could ever have possibly imagined. Even on her own worst enemy, Cersei Lannister, she would never wish anyone would have such a life.

"I suppose your family has regrets now," Ser Jaime pressed his lips together. "Sending you to King's Landing to marry a King."

"If they do, there is nothing they can do about it," she grasped his arm tighter as they moved through the torture. "No one can save me now."

"Do not be so sure of that," Jaime pressed his lips together. "There are talks of Daenerys Targaryen returning to Westeros with Robb Stark at her side."

Margaery's hand clenched even tighter. "Truly? They are returning to Westeros?"

"It is only a rumour," Jaime began, "But it is enough."

"Joffrey will be furious," she took some delight out of knowing Joffrey was about to face a foe he would not be able to defeat. Three dragons? It was unfathomable that he could ever defeat them.

"Yes, he will," Jaime pressed his lips together. "As is Cersei."

"He will use this fury," Margaery whispered, shivering a little. The beating she would receive would be more brutal than she had ever receive.

"I could not protect the last Queen I knew who was tortured by her husband," Jaime gulped. "Perhaps finally, I could protect you?"

"Protect me?" She frowned, looking up at Jaime Lannister.

"Yes," he nodded. "I will lead you through a secret tunnel out of King's Landing. There you will be placed on a ship that will sail to Casterly Rock."

"To Sansa," Margaery muttered, reaching up to place her hand over her heart.

"Yes," Jaime nodded. "You would be safe from Joffrey."

"But what will you say?" Margaery demanded suddenly, "What will you say to him, so he will not devastate the Westerlands to find me?"

"Your death will be announced," Jaime admitted. "A suicide, everybody would believe it. You would remain safe until the war is over."

It sounded too good to be true, but she wanted it to be true. Margaery wished that she could be spirited away, that it would be so easy. But in her time in King's Landing she had learnt not to trust the Lannisters, for all she knew it was a ploy used by Joffrey. If she accepted she would be taken to him, punished for attempting to leave him. He would likely declare her a traitor, embarrassing her in front of the court and dangling her in front of her family to ensure that they were not traitors.

"I wish to accept," Jaime then nodded and began to move quickly. "But I cannot!" She called after him and he turned his head quickly, looking down on her.

"Why is that?"

"Because what is this is a ploy?" She asked, honey coloured eyes wide. "He will hurt me worse if I accept. I cannot. I must remain for the rest of my days at the side of my husband, even if I would rather run."

"If that is your wish," Jaime Lannister looked rather sad at her answer. "Perhaps you will not have to wait too long for a rescue."

"How so?" Margaery found herself growing curious.

"With their combined armies, Robb Stark and Daenerys Targaryen are likely to possess enough strength to take Westeros," Ser Jaime Lannister did not seem too disappointed with such information.

"And they would rescue me?" Margaery did not believe such a thing. "I am likely to be punished just for being the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." She cleared her throat, "I can only hope that my family are spared, especially Willas and Garlan as they have done nothing to warrant punishment accept support my father in his ambitions."

"Unfortunately, they are both unpredictable," Ser Jaime Lannister pressed his lips together. "I do not know who they will punish or who will not be punished. I know that I will not be safe, for the fact I am a Lannister, I aided in the death of Lord Eddard Stark and I killed King Aerys Targaryen. I will not be forgiven for killing their fathers."

"It seems that these are our last moments," Margaery could not feel a sense of relief. "We do not know when they arrive?"

"No, I do not know," he admitted. "I am not privy to much that is discussed among the small council."

"That is a shame, as I also do not know much that goes on in the small council. My husband does not trust me with such information," Margaery's jaw clenched. Perhaps if she had some political freedom, she would accept her punishments and be able to bear them. But she had no freedom as Joffrey did not trust her, he had grown paranoid as he aged and directed most of his paranoia and anger toward her. Which meant she was watched closely, everyone she spoke to was also watched and they were interrogated.

Margaery was caged.

They exited the dungeons and Margaery was relieved. Ser Jaime did not leave her to herself, however, instead her escorted her to her chambers. There a bath was drawn for her and two of her servants were waiting for her. Margaery turned to the man who she had watched age drastically over the decade she had been in King's Landing. The stress had taken a toll on the man who had once been handsome when she had arrived. Joffrey had once been handsome to her also, but he had quickly become ugly in her eyes.

An ugly, evil little creature.

"Thank you, Ser Jaime," she said to him, hands in front of her.

"You do not need to thank me, Your Grace," he told her. "I was doing my duty."

"You have done a better duty than many others," she told him quietly. "Now please, excuse me."

"Your Grace," Ser Jaime bowed before turning on his heels and exiting the chambers.

"I will like to take that bath now," Margaery told the young serving girls. "And then I would like to sleep for the rest of the day, tell anyone who wishes to see me that I am ill and not to be disturbed. Do you understand me?"

Both girls nodded.

* * *

The anger on Joffrey Baratheon's face was not hidden. The whole of the court bore witness to what Margaery Tyrell had dealt with for all the years she had been married. While they knew Joffrey was a madman, finally the rumours would be revealed as true. There was a sick pleasure she got out of the way he seemed to lose it, ripping his crown from his head and throwing it across the room. Several smallfolk ducked as the crown smacked into the wall behind them, falling to the stone ground and clattering.

"The _bitch_ ," Joffrey spat, frothing at the mouth. "Thinks she can give that little _monster heirs!_ " He screeched. Margaery thought his mind would deteriorate even further when he learnt of Robb Stark and Daenerys Targaryen coming back to Westeros. "I should have married her!" He turned to his mother, pointing at her as he glowered at her fiercely. "I should have never listened to you!"

He was right, he never should have listened to all those who had turned against Sansa Stark. He should have married her, she would have given him the heirs he desired so. Perhaps Sansa Stark would be much stronger than Margaery, she would be able to bear his attacks with quiet dignity. The Starks were like that. Or perhaps she would have faltered, the little bird folded in on herself and thrown herself from the tower. Margaery had seen her as weak when she had first come to court, but perhaps Sansa Stark would not be falling into the madness that was claiming Margaery rapidly.

"My sweet, please," the Dowager Queen tried to calm her son. "It was for the best, the Starks are traitors, you know this. They conspire against us in the Riverlands-"

"But they whelp!" Joffrey shrieked, "Her womb has shrivelled up!" He pointed at Margaery, "She cannot give me the heirs that I need! I will have her head!"

Gasps were heard through the court. Margaery pressed her lips together, looking to Ser Jaime Lannister to appeared apologetic. She was not going to be killed? Margaery reached up to place her hand to her neck.

"You cannot," Lord Petyr Baelish, the slimy, little man, cooed toward the prince. "The Reach are our allies, the Maester is looking into Queen Margaery's health. I am sure he will help with providing the heir that you need."

Joffrey seemed to calm down, but there was still that simmering anger Margaery observed. She would be punished later, and there was really nothing she could do about it.

"And what other news is there?" Joffrey turned to his steward, attempting to appear charming. But it failed, everyone saw him for the monster that he truly was.

"I am afraid you will not like it, Your Grace," the steward was skittish, peering at Queen Margaery who could do nothing. She could hardly save herself, how did a steward expect her to save him?

"Tell me," Joffrey's voice was a demand.

"The Lord Robb Stark sails back to Westeros with an army," the steward chose his next words carefully. "And with an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen."

Joffrey straightened suddenly, nodding his head slowly. "Of course," there was a strange calmness to him that made Margaery feel incredibly uncomfortable. She was distrustful, what was he going to do?

"Your Grace…" the steward cleared his throat. "I am sure there is nothing for us to worry about."

"Seize him!" Joffrey suddenly shrieked, pointing at the steward who suddenly paled. Meryn Trant and another Kingsguard stepped up to seize the steward who began protesting, shaking violently.

Margaery could only watch on in horror.

"To the black cells!" Joffrey cried out and suddenly threw his head back, laughing a little as he watched the steward be dragged off. The man was crying, protesting and begging for the forgiveness. "Wife, here," Joffrey ordered, and Margaery stepped toward him. She did not shake, but she was still fearful of her husband and any repercussions he would be likely to place on her. She would be punished, because she was the easiest thing he could get his hands on and destroy.

"You have need of me, Your Grace?" She asked softly and did not meet his eyes. She knew they would be crazed, they always were.

"Yes," he reached out, gripping her arm tightly. "I always have need of you. My lovely… lovely wife…" he cooed, suddenly moving down to press his face into her neck. She stiffened as he sniffed. Why, why must he do such a thing to her? Could he not wait until they were in their chambers?

"Your Grace," Ser Jaime Lannister stepped forward. "Perhaps the court should be excused."

"Why?" Joffrey challenged the man who was his uncle but also his father. "Why must the court be excused? Do they not want to watch as their King fucks their Queen?"

Margaery whimpered.

"They are lowly subjects, Your Grace," Jaime Lannister's voice was calm. "They do not have the privilege to lay their eyes on their Queens naked body."

"Perhaps you are right, Uncle," but he did not release his grip on Margaery. "Escort my wife to my chambers," he suddenly requested, throwing Margaery at Jaime Lannister. She tripped over her dress and found herself falling, only to be caught by Jaime Lannister who helped her to her feet.

"Of course, Your Grace," Ser Jaime nodded as he helped Margaery.

"I want her stripped, Uncle!" He called after them and Margaery winced. The embarrassment was too much, her mask was beginning to slip.

"What you suffer…" Jaime Lannister said as soon as they were out of ear shot of the King. "I can never repay you for how I have punished you."

"You should have thought of that before you lay with your sister," Margaery could not help but snap. She removed herself from the arms of the Lannister, "You Lannisters are all the same. I do not need an escort, I know where to go."

She left Ser Jaime Lannister staring after her, watching as she hurried to her husband's chambers. Her body was shaking as she made her way up the steps, wishing that she could throw herself from the tower. But, unfortunately, killing herself was not something that Margaery would be able to commit to. With the knowledge that Robb Stark and Daenerys Targaryen were coming to Westeros, she was reinvigorated. She wanted to remain alive to watch Joffrey as he was killed by dragon fire.

That would be the justice she craved.

After that she would be happy to contemplate her death. She would accept her punishment from the Dragon Queen and the Wolf King, she would not protest. Margaery only hoped that she would live long enough to watch her husband burn. There was a smile on her face and her shaking stopped, she felt a lot stronger suddenly and felt as though she should challenge her husband. But such a thing would be impossible, whilst Joffrey was angered she could not challenge him. But there was that small, spark of rebellion inside her that would not go away.

"Wife," she heard her husband behind her once she had gotten to his chambers. "You took your time."

"Husband," her heart sped up. She was a little surprised that he had made it to his chambers before her, "Had I known you needed me so soon I would have hurried."

"You left Ser Jaime, where did you go, Wife?" He sneered as he moved closer to her, stalking behind her. Margaery tensed, waiting for that first strike.

"I wished to be alone," she told him. "There is no reason I needed an escort to your chambers, Husband, I know exactly where to go."

"An escort is for your safety," he told her. His voice was strangely calm and that did not bode well for her, she was to be punished severely.

"Ah, yes, my safety," she agreed. "It is important I remain safe."

"You are the Queen," his voice was begrudging. He moved away from her and she turned in surprise, feeling suspicious. "Come," he sat down on the end of his bed and petted the side beside him. "Come!"

Margaery quickened her pace to move to him, lifting her skirts and placing herself beside him on the bed.

"I never wished to hurt you, Wife," he said as he suddenly reached up. He placed one hand on her neck and squeezed, causing Margaery to freeze out of fear. "But you continuously defy me, you ask to be hurt. What kind of woman does that make you?"

"I do not know," she said carefully, waiting for him to act.

"Of course you do not know, you never know," he snapped suddenly, squeezing even tighter. She clawed at his hand, wishing for him to release her suddenly but he would not. "You are useless," he told her as her vision began to dot.

* * *

When Margaery awoke, she could hear screams and she jerked up. Her throat was so sore that she reached up to touch her neck, wincing. It was tender, and she gathered it was from where her husband had choked her. Pushing herself to her feet, Margaery turned to look at herself in the reflected glass and flinched when she noticed the bruises around her neck. They were even worse than normal, which concerned Margaery that her husband really would end up killing her. But such a thing… she could not allow him to kill her, she wanted to watch him die first.

She stumbled toward the screams, throwing open the door when they came to an abrupt stop. She managed to catch the door before it slammed open. Staring into the room, she could only gaze in horror as a woman was strung up naked, arrows in her body. Margaery looked over to her husband who was sitting there, another woman naked, on his lap and shaking as she looked up at him.

"This is what happens when you defy me," he motioned his crossbow, pointing it at the woman who was bleeding out, blood dripping to the expensive rug beneath her.

"Y-yes, Your Grace," the girl shuddered. She had to be a girl. Who was she and where had her husband found her?

"Good, good," he cooed sickly and Margaery shivered as she watched on. He wrapped his hand around the girl's throat, squeezing as she did nothing to fight him. "Now, I know you're going to be a good one."

Margaery could not watch any longer, instead she moved to close the door softly and turned away. Her body was shivering, she hated him with a burning passion and wished that she could escape.

Pushing her fingers through her hair, Margaery moved to the door and opened it. She stepped out into the hall and gazed down, straightening her shoulders as she left. Intent on finding her family members, she worried that she would be caught and hauled back to her chambers by Trant or Blout. She would be punished later on for escaping from Joffrey's watchful eye, but she would be able to take the punishment. All Margaery wanted was to be comforted by a member of her family, who would strengthen her and remind her who she was.

"Queen Margaery," someone said and she turned her head slowly, to look over at Lord Varys who was waiting for her.

"Lord Varys," she cleared her throat. "Why are you skulking around?"

"Why are you skulking around?" He challenged, "That is not something that is befitting of a Queen."

"Perhaps not," she frowned at him. "But there are a lot of things that are not befitting of a King that my husband still manages to do."

"I believe you are right," Lord Varys took a deep breath. "I assume you are intent on visiting with your family? I believe the Lady Olenna is in her chambers, perhaps I can escort you?"

"I would like that," she told the bald eunuch. "I suppose you will keep my husband distracted whilst I spend time with my grandmother?"

"I do believe that he is keeping himself distracted," Varys clicked his tongue. "He will not leave his chambers for a long while."

She was grateful that he would not come in search of her.

"Is there any news?" She found herself asking the Master of Whispers, "I know that the King would not appreciate if you were to tell me, but I would appreciate the knowledge, Lord Varys."

"Daenerys Targaryen returns with her dragons," Varys started to tell her. "And Robb Stark returns with a bride, and his youngest sister."

"They have found Arya Stark?" Margaery looked at the eunuch in surprise. "How do you know of this?"

"I know many things," he smiled at her. "It is how I became known as the Master of Whispers."

"I would not be surprised if the Gods spoke to you," and that was something coming from Margaery, as she did not believe in the Gods. "You seem to know a great many things before they happen, Lord Varys, it is commendable."

"I must know, for the good of the Kingdom."

"But whose side are you on?" She found herself challenging. "I suppose you know which side I am prepared to take, but which side are you?"

"I choose the side of what is best for the Kingdom, for the smallfolk," he answered. "Which side do you choose?"

"I am sure you already know that answer," she sighed as she continued to walk. "I am sure that it has become painfully obvious."

"Not all things are obvious, but I do have the knowledge of your choice," he smiled at her. "I do say that you appear to have made the right choice, Queen Margaery."

"I used to be known to make good choices, but I fear my choices have been completely taken from me," they came to a stop outside the doors to her grandmother's chambers. "Thank you for escorting me, Lord Varys."

"You do not need to thank me, Your Grace," he nodded his head at her. "I understand that there are times you do not wish to be seen."

"You are correct," she placed her hand on the door handle. "I will speak to you soon."

She turned the handle and stepped inside, frowning at the darkness. There was a strange stench in the chambers as she moved further, pausing when she stared at her grandmother's bed.

"Grandmother," she called, moving toward the bed and lifting up the ends of her skirts. "Grandmother, I came to speak with you. I managed to get away."

She received no answer from her grandmother who was lying on the bed.

"Grandmother, please," her voice cracked and she knew. She knew that she had lost her grandmother. Her heart ached as she found herself grasping her grandmother's cold, limp hand and sinking to her knees beside the bed.

Lady Olenna Tyrell was gone from the world.


	25. XXV

**Ok so here's another chapter, once again thank you for the response I appreciate it. This is the last non Robb chapter for a while, it'll be back to Robb and back to Westeros - yay. I also have many plans for Aegon.**

 **Also he's a Dornishman so he's going to have an appetite.**

 **Have I mentioned my plans for this series? Probably not but Aegon is important for the next book once I get around to finishing this one - which hopefully I will. And hopefully you all stick around for that, so once again thank you.**

* * *

 **XXV**

 **AEGON**

 **HE** was so sick of travelling on ships, he was sick of the ocean and could not wait to place his feet on dry land. Aegon spent his time on his own ship, one of the last ships that were following Daenerys's contingent, who followed behind Robb Stark's ships.

"We're close!" One of his men shouted, "I can see land!"

"How long?" Aegon called up to the man.

"About a night or so!" The man yelled back his answer, "But we will arrive soon, Your Grace!"

That relieved Aegon, he could not wait to see the ancestral home of his family.

"Your Grace," he heard someone say softly and he lifted his head, turning to look at Septa Lemore. "Come with me, please," she urged him.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked her, concerned.

"I just wished to speak with you," she cleared her throat. "I am afraid this has not been solved, who will become the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."

"It seems like my aunt thinks it has been solved," he rolled his eyes. "Robb Stark will have the North, and she will have the rest of the Kingdoms. I will be left with nothing, I do not think she cares what happens to me."

It was unfortunate, that his aunt believed she was meant to be the ruler. But she was not, if anything she should have ruled beside him as his Queen. Rubbing his hands together, he looked up at the blue sky and watched as they continued to sail toward Westeros.

"I am sure that is not true," Septa Lemore laid a hand on his arm. "Not including her children, you are both the last Targaryens left within this world. I am sure that she would not be so cruel to you, I cannot see her doing such a thing."

Aegon wasn't so sure. He was not so sure of his future when he went back to Westeros, he doubted many would believe him that he was the real Aegon Targaryen. He would need Jon Connington and Lord Varys to assure them that he was Aegon, but with Lord Varys serving the Lannisters he doubted the man would admit such a thing. It left him in a limbo like state that would not go away, he did not know if he would ever be welcome on the shores of Westeros.

"We will go to Dorne, correct?" Septa Lemore asked him as she stared at the man she had raised.

"That is what they want from us," Aegon shrugged his shoulders. "Robb Stark will go to the North to take back his home from the Boltons and I will go to Dorne to win them over."

"I am sure they will support you," Septa Lemore had hope. "The Martells are your family, and their hatred of the Lannisters is great. I am sure that they would back you, especially Prince Oberyn Martell and Princess Arianne Martell. You will win Dorne's support, but they may not support your aunt, they may support yourself instead."

"What will Daenerys do?" Aegon asked the Septa suddenly, looking into her violet eyes. It was odd she had violet eyes. "Will she burn Dorne to gain their support?"

"I would not be surprised," Septa Lemore held no love for Daenerys Targaryen. "It will be the Dornish Wars again, but she would lose support. I do not think that the people of Westeros wish for another war."

"I cannot allow them to be forced to witness a war again," Aegon decided. "Unfortunately, I might have to bend the knee to her."

"But you cannot," Septa Lemore shook her head. "You are the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps if your sister was alive," she looked down sadly. "Then it would be more difficult, your reign could come into question."

"Unfortunately, my sister was murdered," he clenched his hands into fists. "I want Gregor Clegane's head for myself. Do you think she will give me that?"

"I suppose, she should," Septa Lemore pressed her hands together. "It would only cement your bond as family if she was to give you the heads of those who murdered your mother and sister."

"How so?"

"You need to show that you are strong," Septa Lemore encouraged. "You need to show that the two of you are strong, that your family bonds have not been damaged. She is already married with three children, guaranteed heirs to the Iron Throne. But if it shows that she is also close with her nephew, it could show unity for House Targaryen."

"Unity is important," he mused. "As is, most of House Lannister is torn between supporting the Lannisters on the throne and the Lannisters at Casterly Rock. Is that correct?"

"That's correct," Jon Connington announced. "Most follow Lord Tyrion Lannister because he protects him, others followed Queen Cersei out of obligation."

"They have made an awful mess of it," Septa Lemore agreed. "But Westeros will be attempting to repair itself and there will be many who will resists to a Targaryen on the throne again, but I know that I would prefer a Targaryen over a Lannister."

Sometimes Aegon wondered about his Septa, but he never questioned her deeply. He did not have the right to.

"What of the Stark?" Aegon had interacted with Robb Stark and his Dothraki wife minimally, he avoided it as best he could as he mostly wanted to interact with his aunt.

"I think it is foolish," Jon Connington was honest. "The Starks bent the knee for a reason, and they should remain bent. If the North has a right to be independent, other territories will declare themselves independent. The Iron Islands did it also."

"But it is also beneficial," Septa Lemore argued. "The North is vast and very different to the South, it would only make sense if they were independent."

"Robb Stark does not need to be a King," Jon Connington scowled before swearing, "Those fucking Starks are always in places they do not belong."

"Jon," Aegon frowned at the man who had raised him. "Please, withhold your anger at Lyanna Stark. Robb Stark is not his aunt, I do not think he meant to become King. But it has been handed to him, if it ensures that we are not killed we will support the choices of my aunt. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Your Grace," but there seemed to be rage inside Jon Connington, still. "But we should not become complacent with our place. You deserve much more, Aegon, you are _supposed_ to be King."

"Yes, perhaps that was what I was meant to be at birth," he frowned. "But I have been away for years, and Daenerys has ensured her reign. She has three heirs, who will they be more likely to follow?"

"It will be hard for them to choose," Septa Lemore placed a hand on Aegon's shoulder. "Now come, there is still much you need to learn about Westeros."

"Have I not learnt enough?" He joked as he followed his Septa. "You have spoken to me of Westeros since I was a child."

"But I wish to speak of Dorne," Septa Lemore informed him, grasping his hand as they headed into his cabin.

"Dorne?" He looked to her as he sat down behind his desk inside the cabin. "I should send a letter to my aunt, correct? If I can ensure that Dorne will back her, she will know that I am here to support her, rather than to murder her and overthrow her."

"But there is still much to learn about Dorne," Lemore insisted as she placed her hands together. "You will be welcomed as your mother was Princess Elia Martell, House Martell will welcome you back with open arms and they will support you."

"But I will need them to support my aunt Daenerys," Aegon placed his elbows down on the table. He then placed his chin in his hands as he watched Septa Lemore.

"And they will," Septa Lemore held up her hand. "But do not forget that if you give them the chance, they will fight for you to overthrow Daenerys."

While that was… tempting, he did not want to lose the last family member he had.

"I should not overthrow her," Aegon finally said. "She has a larger army, she is also my aunt and we are the last two Targaryens."

"Family must stick together," Septa Lemore agreed. "It is best that the two of you manage to ensure that House Targaryen does not fall to extinction."

Aegon smiled at his Septa, "You are Dornish, yes?"

"I am," she admitted, though it seemed to take a lot out of her to admit to her. "I am Dornish, I cannot forget it."

"I suppose we can never forget where we come from," he rubbed his hands together.

"No," she agreed before rising to her feet. "Send a letter to Queen Daenerys, discussing us heading straight to Dorne rather than Dragonstone."

"Yes, Septa Lemore."

* * *

Aegon's favourite girl drowned days into their trip. He was sad but not heartbroken, the Lys native that looked more Valyrian than he did had been a bright spot in his life. But she was not the woman that had held his heart, she would never be. Yet he used his grief as an excuse to hold an orgy in his cabin with his other mistresses, he did have an appetite of a Dornishman. Many of the Golden Company joked amongst each other but would keep themselves quiet whenever their Prince would emerge from his cabin, not wanting to risk his ire.

"Are you feeling much better?" Septa Lemore asked him as she entered the cabin, mindful of the sleeping naked bodies of women.

"Much," Aegon was dressed only in trousers, running his fingers through his hair that had once been blue. It was now silver gold, the colour of his father's hair. "How was your night?"

"Much more subdued than yours," Septa Lemore quirked a smirk at her Prince.

"Well, you are a Septa!" There was a twinkle in Aegon's eye, "If you had a night much like mine I would have been very concerned about your vows!"

Septa Lemore smiled down at one of the young courtesans who awoke suddenly. She then reached down to help the young woman up to her feet. The woman was beautiful, with curling red hair and pale skin. The young woman smiled at Septa Lemore, before coquettishly smiling at Aegon who only nodded at her. Helping the girl, she handed her a dress and the young woman changed before escaping out of the cabin. No other young women had awoken yet, but Prince Aegon was known to have a ferocious appetite and he would have worn out most of the young women.

"Do you want some wine?" Aegon offered his Septa, holding out a goblet to her.

"No," she held out her hand. "I only wanted to bring you this letter."

"A letter?" Aegon took it from Septa Lemore's fingers.

"Yes," Septa Lemore nodded at him. "I believe that it may be from Queen Daenerys, I do not think that King Robb Stark would send you a letter."

"I agree," Aegon could not help but agree. "I do not think that Robb Stark likes me all that much."

"I cannot imagine why," Septa Lemore was not sarcastic. She was happy, a smile on her face as she stared at the man who she had raised.

"Neither can I," Aegon muttered as he opened the letter.

 _We are growing closer to Westeros, to Dragonstone where we will stop over. I expect you to dock with us._

 _Queen Daenerys_

"Well," he placed the letter down on his desk, sipping some of the wine before turning to Septa Lemore. "I have received my orders. I guess I must do as I am told, I do not wish to risk angering my aunt. I would imagine that she would turn me over to her dragons, have them eat me alive."

"I do not imagine being eaten alive by her dragons would be very pleasant," Septa Lemore nodded at another woman who rose and dressed herself, exiting the cabin. "Once again I am very sorry for the death of Lyria."

"You do not need to be sorry," Aegon informed the Septa. "Lyria was not strong enough to make the journey. It is a shame, but I did not love her, and she was not my wife."

"But it is still sad that you have lost someone important to you," Septa Lemore frowned at her. "You have lost so much in your short life, I do not wish for you to lose more."

"I have lost my throne, and I will never get it back," he reminded her. "It will go to my aunt, I cannot afford a war with her."

"And neither can the rest of Westeros," Septa Lemore nodded as the two of them exited the cabin.

"Your Grace!" One of the men call, one who was much younger than Aegon. "Ser Connington wishes to speak with you on the top deck!"

"Thank you," he nodded at the young man, before smiling at Septa Lemore and heading up the stairs to the top deck.

Jon Connington was standing at the top of the deck, watching the ships out in front of them that were sailing closer and closer toward Westeros. He had his hands on his hips, his skin red from the sun as it had always been since Aegon had known him. While Aegon became bronze in the sun, as did most of the man on the ship, Connington became red rather than brown. It was amusing to Aegon, but he would never bring it up to purposefully to embarrass the older man.

"You wished to see me?" Aegon asked the back of the man.

"Yes," Jon turned slowly. "We must get in contact with Lord Varys."

"The Lord of Whispers?" Aegon frowned at the man, "Why would you suggest such a thing?"

"Because we must come up with a way to ensure you are placed on the Iron Throne," Jon Connington pressed his lips together. "You are the true heir, not Daenerys Targaryen."

"You wish to risk our lives going against her?" Aegon frowned at the man, "I thought we agreed that we would fall in line behind her, that we would allow her to become the queen."

"But it is not the way," Jon Connington turned to frown at the young prince. "Your father would want you to be King, you should be King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Such a thing will only result in another war," Aegon frowned up at the man. "It does not matter what my father wanted, Jon, my father is dead. Daenerys is the only member of my family that is alive, I cannot betray her. Why do you not seem to understand? I cannot turn my back on her and betray her, I will not."

Jon Connington scowled, "If that is what you wish."

"It is what I wish," Aegon Targaryen shook his head. "I do not think that I wish to cause much tension between my aunt and I. Do you understand me? And we are not alone, I have three young cousins. The Targaryens are beginning to rise from the ashes, I cannot risk our house becoming extinct."

"I understand, Your Grace," Jon Connington obviously did not like the idea. Aegon could see it on the man's face, he wanted Aegon to become the next King of the Seven Kingdoms, but such a thing would not happen.

"Do you?" Aegon frowned at the man, "Because I do not think that you do understand. I do not want to cause a war between my aunt and I, I do not think that I want to become the King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"I do not understand," Jon Connington agreed. "We have worked our whole lives to ensure that you would become King. It bothers me that you do not seem to take this seriously, that you have rolled over and shown her your belly. That you will not fight for your rights, you are the true heir."

"Unfortunately," Aegon frowned at the man. "What can I do? She has three dragons and an army at the back, she even has the support of Robb Stark and his army. I cannot go against that."

"Then we take the dragons," Aegon snorted at the man's suggestion. "They obey her, yes, but you also have the blood of the dragon. I am sure that one of the dragons could come to believe that you are their leader. Do you understand what I am saying? All Targaryens had a dragon, all dragons had a Targaryen as their rider."

Jon was trying to push Aegon going behind Daenerys's back and becoming the leader of the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon was not going to betray her, even though it would have been tempting to become the sole Targaryen alive with three dragons at his back. He would be like his namesake, he would make Westeros bend their knees to him. But such a thing that could not become, he would never do such a thing as Daenerys was already a leader. He had not been trained to be a King, he had been trained to be a Prince as that was all Jon Connington knew.

"You have disappointed me, and I am sure that your father would also be disappointed in you," Jon Connington pointed at Aegon, waving his finger at him.

"I am sure my father would understand my choice," Aegon tensed. He hated being compared to his father, and he hated when people would mention if his father would become disappointed in any of his choices that he made.

His father was a disappointment, he had left his family for another woman and had started a rebellion that had made Aegon into what he had become. He had caused Aegon to be raised by Jon Connington in Essos.

He could complain about nothing.

* * *

The wind blew through his hair, Aegon closed his eye as he breathed in the salty, sea air. He had his head turned up toward the sky, basking in the moonlight. He curled his hands around the railing, leaning forward as they continued the last length of their trip toward Dragonstone. He could see it in the distance, he could even begin to see the coast of Westeros. It excited him, so much so that he could feel his heart racing within his chest.

He would step down on the shores of his ancestors, soon.

Turning around, he pushed himself away from the railing and headed back to the wheel of the ship. He placed his hands on the wood, running his fingers over it as he looked over at some of his men that were up. Though it was late, and he was rather tired, he was much too excited to let one of the men sail for him. He wanted to be the first to place his feet on the sandy shores of Dragonstone, he wanted to be the one who arrived first.

Even though he was the last ship, Robb Stark would be the first to arrive.

"Your Grace," one of the men called up to him, coming around the stairs and up to the top deck.

"Is there something wrong?" He turned to ask the man who came toward him.

It was Tristan Rivers who was coming toward him, "Why do you not wish to take Westeros for yourself? It was our original plan all along, all those years ago we agreed to follow you because you would be King."

"There is no reason why I could not change my mind, Rivers," Aegon rolled his shoulders back.

"I suppose you are right," Tristan crossed his arms over his shoulder. "There is no reason you cannot change your mind. But there is no reason that we cannot change our minds?"

Aegon tensed suddenly as he noticed several men coming from behind Tristan Rivers, "What are you going to do?" Aegon demanded, "Are you going to kill me?"

"We are not going to kill you, Your Grace," Tristan scoffed as he rolled his eyes. "I have grown much too fond of you to kill you. But as I find myself coming closer to Westeros, I realise that I do not wish to step foot on the land that exiled me."

"You do not have to step foot on that land," Aegon decided. "If you wish for us to part ways when we arrive at Dragonstone, then I will allow you to leave."

"I suppose we should say thank you," Tristan rolled his eyes. "I suppose you will not fight us? I wish to take the Shy Maid, I am sure that you will have no need for it."

"I do have need for the ship," Aegon clenched his hands into fists. "But I do not wish to fight with you."

"Then we come to an agreement?" Tristan held out his hand.

Aegon looked at the hand offered, clenching his jaw. "I disagree with the way you have decided to turn your back on me, but we have an agreement," he then shook the man's hand, squeezing hard.

"It is nothing personal, Your Grace," Tristan shook his head. "But as we learned that you were not to be King we found no point in continuing. We would only be putting a woman on the throne that we did not support. You may bend the knee to the bitch, but we do not wish to."

"Then, it seems we should part," Aegon did not like the idea of losing his protection. Without the Golden Company he would be left without protection, Daenerys Targaryen could use it to ensure that he was killed and that her sons were her only heirs.

"Apologies, Your Grace," Tristan shook his head. "But we do not wish to follow a false queen."

"It was an honour to serve with you," Aegon finally said, making sure to look at each face of a man who had served with him since he had been a young boy.

The men left Aegon alone on the deck and he crossed his arms over his chest. He was disappointed, especially in the fact that he had no assurance. Though he had decided against overthrowing Daenerys, he could not attempt to stop her from getting the Iron Throne. Shaking his head, he moved toward the railing and curled his hands around the wood. It seemed that things were crashing down around him, and it bothered him. He could do nothing but sit there and accept, it was such a shame and Jon Connington would be furious when he found out.

Heading down from the deck, he opened the door to his cabin and stepped inside. It was dark, only lit by one candle that was slowly beginning to fade. Aegon undressed himself and headed to his bed, he slid under the covers and found himself staring up at the wooden roof over his head. Thoughts turned to his parents, the two that he had never met but he had heard so much about. Would they be proud of him? It was something he hoped for, he was doing it for their memory after all – to restore the Targaryen dynasty and make it stronger.

He rolled over onto his side and he looked at the candle as it flickered, the light growing duller and duller. The ship continued to rock, it was calming and slowly it was pulling him to sleep. Since he was a child, he had always imagined the waves rocked in a way that a mother would rock their child. It had become a source of comfort for him, Aegon felt that if he could not have his mother with him at least he had the ocean. His eyes began to shut, and he could no longer fight his sleep.


	26. XXVI

**Ok I need to sincerely apologise for the lack of updates since November. I went on a five week holiday over Christmas and did not take my laptop, and when I got back I've been focusing on attempting to get a job and get myself ready for university this year.**

 **Also thank you for all the reviews and the comments, I really appreciate it and I've taken in your feedback.**

 **So here is an update, sorry for any mistakes in it. Thank you so much for the support for the story.**

 **Also wow I am so sorry, my internet cut out and it must have deleted so here is the chapter I am so sorry. My laptop keeps disconnecting to the wifi so there must be something wrong with my laptop, yikes. I am so sorry.**

* * *

 **XXVI**

 **ROBB**

 **DRAGONSTONE** was an intimidating structure, Robb Stark gazed up at the dark castle as the little boat rowed toward the shore. His wife was seated just in front of him, wrapped up in warm furs as the climate was much too cold to what she was used to. The wind ruffled his hair, he had not bothered to tie it back even though it irritated him.

"This is it," Dacey Mormont murmured in amazement. "The Targaryens never do things by half, do they?"

"No," Robb Stark was standing as they continued to row toward the shore.

"I wonder how Queen Daenerys feels about you being the first to step foot on her Dragonstone," Arya finally spoke up, looking to the row boats that followed them.

"I am sure that she will not be too mad," Zhalli spoke up. She was coming down with an illness, her throat was closed making her voice husky. Her nose was also stuffed, she was coughing violently, and Robb found himself worried.

A simple cold could kill anyone, he was worried that his wife that he had only been with for a few full moons would die. The two of them were yet to have any children, if he was to lose her he would need to start again to find another wife. Reaching out to comfort her, Robb ran his fingers over the top of her head and she turned around. The tip of her nose was red and her eyes watered, her face pale.

"You will need to rest," Robb finally told her. "This illness could kill you."

Zhalli coughed violently, her body shaking. "You'll have to get a Maester to look at her," Dacey finally told Robb. "Where are you going to find a Maester? It looks as though Dragonstone has been abandoned."

"It is fine," Zhalli croaked, holding up her hand. "I will survive this," she coughed again. The sound was awful to listen to, she struggled with the illness that she had suddenly come down with.

"I am sure that you will," Smalljon assured her as the boat touched against the shore. Zhalli was the only one who did not have her balance, so she lurched forward, and Robb reached forward to help his wife.

The water was icy, Robb hissed as soon as the water began to soak his boots. He would not allow his wife to touch the water, she would only chill even further. Pulling her into his arms, he helped her to the beach and away from the water. She stood beside him, leaning against him as she coughed and sniffled. It was possible that he could turn and head to the keep, to go inside to the warmth. But it would be an insult to Daenerys Targaryen and even Aegon Targaryen, they had a right to see the home of their ancestors first.

"Here she comes," Zhalli muttered under her breath as Daenerys was helped onto the shore by her husband, Khal Drogo.

"This is it," Daenerys said, awe in her voice as she stared at the place her ancestors had built centuries before.

"Yes," Robb watched as she moved up the beach, boots sinking into the ground. Daenerys had dressed in a coat also, it seemed the people who had lived in Essos for most of their life could not handle the sudden change in temperature. It was a little amusing to him and he looked down at his wife, wondering how she would fare when they headed North.

"I…" she suddenly crumbled, Khal Drogo was there to help her, pulling her into his arms.

Robb watched as Aegon Targaryen had a very similar reaction. He stared up at the structure of Dragonstone, jaw open a little and he was moving quickly. He came to stand not too far from Daenerys, he looked over at her and their eyes wet. There was a bonding experience between the two of them, it was something that none of them could understand. The two of them were the last Targaryens, discounting Daenerys's three sons, who had their home stripped away from them when they were only young. So, to have Dragonstone and the rest of Westeros within their grasp, Robb could only imagine how they felt.

A dragon screeched overhead, and Robb looked up, watching as the three dragons circled over them.

"Let us go inside," Daenerys began to move. "Aegon," she turned to her nephew. "I believe that we should enter together."

"Together?" there as surprise on his face. Even Robb was surprised, Daenerys had been rather cold to her nephew.

"Yes," she offered him her hand. "This is the home of our ancestors. It belongs to the both of us," the two of them stepped forward. Daenerys placed her arm in his elbow and they began toward the entrance. Drogo followed behind them, revealing no emotion but that was not so odd for the man's character.

Robb moved toward his wife, placing a hand on her back. She looked up at him, studying his face. The two of them had grown much closer, he would not say it was love. But he did enjoy her company and he had respect for his wife, at least he did not loathe her. Often, he wondered if he could ever come to love Zhalli, like his mother and father.

There was deep uncertainty, but he had a war to focus on.

The walk up to Dragonstone was long, Robb wondered why they had made the walk so long. But as he heard another dragon screech, he knew there was an entrance for dragons and the riders would get closer to the castle. The entourage followed behind the two Targaryens, who seemed to glow as they moved closer to the dark castle. Robb found his stomach churning, wishing that he was home in Winterfell. But that would have to wait, as Daenerys and Aegon disappeared through the open doors to Dragonstone.

It appeared as if Dragonstone had been abandoned quickly.

Things had been left perfectly in place, other things had been left as though people had been using it before they had to leave. It was eerie, Robb shivered as he moved through the keep with his wife and his closest companions by his side. The keep was dark, the only light that came was from the small windows in the hall they were walking through. Robb imagined when all the sconces were lit with flames, he would be able to see what Dragonstone looked like much better.

It was then they got to the throne room, Daenerys and Aegon immediately ordered the pulling down of Baratheon paraphernalia. His wife relaxed into his side and they watched, as Daenerys sat herself on the throne and Aegon watched as the Baratheon belongings were collected.

"They will be burnt," Daenerys announced as the Dothraki collected everything that had once belonged to the Baratheon who had lived there.

"Good," Aegon glowered down at the objects. "I just wish the Usurper was here, so we could burn him too."

That did not sit right with Robb.

Robb wondered what had happened to Stannis Baratheon. He had heard no news from the man since he had abandoned Dragonstone to follow the Red Witch that had attempted to help him regain the throne from the bastard, Joffrey.

"Well, unfortunately he is dead," Daenerys ran her hands over the throne.

"Mama," a child cried and her second son Vorsakko escaped the arms of the woman who had been holding him. He hurried toward his mother, up the stairs and placed his hands on her knees.

"Oh, Vorsakko," she leaned down to lift her child onto her arms. "Do you like Dragonstone?"

"Yes," the child blinked as he looked around the dark throne room.

"Hm, me too," Daenerys pressed her mouth against the back of his head.

Robb wondered about having his own children. He looked down at his wife who appeared half asleep, her eyes were half open and she was resting against his chest. He looked to Khal Drogo who held his youngest son in his arms who was sleeping, his oldest son was standing behind him and staring at the throne. The throne would belong to him when his mother was to pass, or she was ready to step down. Robb wondered how the boy felt, knowing that he would become King of the Six Kingdoms.

He did not plan on bending the knee to Daenerys, he would never allow the North to become part of the Seven Kingdoms again. He was the King in the North and he was not going to let all the hard work and what the North had been through be all for nothing. So far, Daenerys had said nothing to stop their plan, but he would be wary not to trust her completely. If he did it was likely that she would prove she could not be trusted, and he would lose the North completely.

It was not something Robb was willing to risk.

* * *

The chambers offered to Zhalli and Robb were large. They were cold and dark, abandoned in much the same way that the rest of Dragonstone had been left in. The bed had sheets thrown to the floor, the pillows were scattered all around the bed. Zhalli moved, picking up a doll that had been carelessly thrown to the ground and turned her head to look at her husband.

"What would have made them leave so hurriedly?" She asked, gripping the doll in her hands as she stared around the chambers.

"I do not know," Robb replied. But Stannis Baratheon had abandoned the place, Robb just did not know the reason as to why.

"It is a strange place his," his wife placed her hand against the wall. "It is so cold, but it is warm all the same," she turned to face him. "This is an odd place."

"The Targaryens were an odd people," Robb replied as he moved toward the bed, picking up the sheets and the pillows. "Do you not like this place?"

"I do not know how to feel about it," she replied as she looked up at the ceiling. "Is your home much nicer?"

"Winterfell is warmer and homier," he answered honestly. "I prefer it over any other place in the world. But I am not sure how it has been treated since the Boltons took it, I can only imagine that they have not treated it well."

"You fear returning home?"

"I do," he admitted. It was not something he wanted to return to, in fact he was rather dreading what had become of his home. He could only imagine when his mother saw it she would give him nothing but grief, informing him he should have returned sooner.

Robb was left to wonder what the Targaryens were planning, what they were speaking of. He had been shown to his chambers, told that he would be called upon which he found insulting. He did not like the waiting, did not like that he had to wait to be informed.

"This place is so strange," his wife commented as she peered out the window of their chambers. "Is that Westeros?"

He moved toward the window, standing close behind her as he looked at the horizon. "Yes, that's Westeros," it was distance, he could not quite tell which part of Westeros but had to be a part of the Crownlands.

"It is large," she muttered in amazement. "Is that your home?"

"No," he smiled and moved away from her. "My home is much further North, and it is much further away, nowhere near the ocean."

"Oh," there was disappointment within the voice. "So it will be long since I see it?"

"Hopefully not too long," he took a deep breath. "I am hoping within the week we will set sail for White Harbour with an army, and that I will be able to take back the North for my family and Queen Daenerys."

"Hm," his wife pressed her lips together as she peered up at him. "Oh," she stepped back when she noticed a raven. "A letter."

Robb retrieved the letter from the raven, "I wonder if it is a summons."

"Do you hope it is a summons?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I do not like this waiting, it is frustrating to sit and wait here." Clearing his throat, he then looked down at her. "I apologise, I do not mean to sit here and complain to you."

"I do not mind," she stared up at him, eyes wide and brown. They held warmth within them, it made him feel good inside.

Robb opened the letter and found himself sitting on the end of the bed. It was from his goodbrother, Tyrion Lannister. He was informed that his sister had successfully given birth to twins, Mathew and Alivia Lannister. She was recovering well, Robb found himself very relieved that his sister was alive. Instantly, he stood up and decided that he wanted to search for Arya, he needed to tell her that Sansa was alright.

"Is it good news?" His wife asked, and he smiled at her, nodding.

"My sister has survived childbirth, it was twins," he stood from the bed. "I am relieved, but I must look for Arya. I have to let her know."

His wife nodded, looking toward the window again.

"You do not mind if I leave you?" He looked to his wife, feeling sorry for her that he had to leave. He was leaving her alone when she was in a foreign place.

"I do not mind," she smiled at him. He was struck by her, feeling drawn to her and wishing that he could remain with her. But he had good news, good news that he needed to share with Arya.

He did want to leave her with some sort of affection, he hoped that she would be thinking of him. He had grown to care for her during the time they had spent together, travelling to Westeros. Heading toward her, he reached out and tucked one of her curls behind her ear. Leaning down, he then pressed her lips to the middle of her forehead, comforting her. There was a little hitch in her breath that Robb liked, he liked knowing that he affected her, and he hoped that she knew she affected him too.

Turning from her, he then left their shared chambers to find his sister. There was no telling where Arya would be, his sister hid easily, most often she hid in plain sight. Robb would have a difficult time finding her, especially when Dragonstone had so many undiscovered locations he knew Arya could have gotten herself into. First, he needed Greywind, finding his direwolf would not be too difficult as his direwolf was never too far from him. He turned a corner and found Greywind stalking up the corridor, his yellow eyes meeting Robb's and he instantly began bounding toward him.

"Greywind," Robb greeted his direwolf, bending down to scratch behind the ear of the direwolf. "I need you to help me find Arya."

The direwolf tilted his head, his yellow eyes catching Robb's Tully eyes. He then turned, Robb rising to his feet and following his direwolf. They walked quickly, Robb wondered how Arya would feel about the news. They had not spoken much of their family, she had asked if they were safe and he had told her they were, then she had asked no more questions. So, Robb had not tried to force her to sit down and learn the news of the Starks.

Greywind came to a stop outside some chambers and Robb raised his hand, knocking. "What?" Arya demanded as she opened the door, glowering up at her brother. She looked as though she had just woken.

"I have news," Robb decided to move passed her.

"What news?" Arya frowned up at her brother, "Why do you need to tell me of the news? Surely you should tell your wife."

"She knows," Robb turned to face his little sister. "But I must tell you news of Sansa, and the rest of our family."

"Why do I need to know?" Arya pushed her fingers through her mussed hair.

"Because it is important you know, especially when we see them again," he sat down at the edge of her bed. "What do you wish to know?"

Arya shrugged her shoulders, "I suppose… start with Mother?"

"Well, Mother is safe in Riverrun with Rickon," Robb felt relieved to tell her. "I am sure she is doing well. The last I heard from her she was working on getting a bride for our cousin, Robert. I am not sure if she has been successful."

"Oh," Arya's shoulders slumped at the news.

"Sansa has remained married to Tyrion Lannister, much to mother's displeasure," Robb could not help but smile. "The two of them have managed to take the Westerlands from the Lannisters. Only loyal Lannisters remain, all other houses have sworn themselves to Tyrion or they have fled to King's Landing. Joffrey is furious," he smirked. "Our sister has also given birth to twins, Alivia and Mathew Lannister."

"I suppose he is not the knight that she wanted," Arya's mouth twisted. "But I am rather pleased that Sansa is married, and she has had children. But what of Bran?"

"I am unsure," Robb frowned. "His last known whereabouts were North of the Wall. He sent Rickon to Mother, told her that he would not return."

"Jon has not seen him?"

"Jon has not seen him," Robb smiled. "Our brother has become Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and he is doing well. I do not receive letters from him often, but when I do I learn he is fine."

"Good," Arya finally seemed to break. "I have missed everyone." Her mouth twisted, and Robb rose to his feet, heading over to his sister to wrap his arms around her and comfort her.

* * *

Robb was finally called to have a meeting with Daenerys. He was guided toward the war room in Dragonstone, there he was surprised to see Aegon sitting at the table. Daenerys was standing, she was staring out the windows at the ocean, staring at the coast of Westeros.

"Oh good," Aegon commented as soon as Robb stepped into the room. "You have arrived."

"I have," Robb looked between the two of them. "I suppose we have much to discuss?"

"We do," Daenerys turned around from where she was standing. "We have a lot to discuss."

"Where do you want to begin?" Robb asked as he came to stand at the end of the war table, glancing down at the map. His eyes drifted over it, landing on the North.

"We need to begin with this," she laid a letter flat on the table.

"What is this?" He demanded as he lifted the letter up.

 _Robb Stark,_

 _I have your brother. Surrender to me, or he'll die. Ignore me and I will send another of his little fingers._

 _Ramsay Bolton_

"There was a finger in the envelope," Aegon explained. "We thought it would be a threat to one of us."

"But it was a threat to me," Robb clenched his jaw. It could only be two of his brothers, Jon or Bran. He doubted that Ramsay had Jon, he wondered if he had Bran.

"You have to go North," Daenerys said to him, she stared into his eyes and he was surprised. "You have spoken of how you would secure the North for us, you must do it. Quickly."

"I understand," he nodded. "When do you want me to leave?"

"Immediately would be best," she was brash with her decision making. "The sooner we have the North, all the better for us."

"It will take some time to get everyone together," Robb told them. "They will not be happy, considering we have just arrived in Dragonstone."

"We cannot sit and wait around," Daenerys clenched her hands into fists. "If we are going to take back the Iron Throne, we need to ensure that we are quick about our decisions. We do not need anyone else learning about our plans," she pressed her lips together. "And do you not want to rescue your brother?"

He did. "I understand," he nodded his head. "I will do what I can."

"Good, good," Daenerys breathed in deeply. "I do not mean to rush you, I know it will be difficult, Robb Stark. But we must act quickly, I fear our enemies will know our plans."

"I know," he took a deep breath. "I suppose I must tell my wife we are leaving."

"Apologies," Daenerys finally said. "But Zhalli knows her duties, she knows that she is your wife and what that means. She will follow you, no matter what."

"I know," he looked between the two silver dragons. "I will see you both before I leave." He nodded his head at the two of them, turning and leaving.

Robb slowly came to a pause once he had left the war room. He pushed his fingers through his dark auburn curls. Now he had the opportunity to return to the North, and one of his brothers were in the hands of the Bastard Bolton. He could not leave his brother, he needed to return to the North as soon as possible. It bothered him that he had to gather everyone together, for them to return to the North. There was no time to rest of recuperate, or even get his wife acclimated to Westeros.

Instead they had to set sail once again.

Heading back up to his chambers, he entered and spotted his wife speaking with one of the women Dothraki. He stood to the side, watching them and waiting as servants cleared the chambers, he wanted to speak to her to let her know the news. Striding forward, he placed a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him.

"You have returned," she smiled and turned to the woman, saying something in Dothraki.

The woman nodded, said something to Zhalli and eyed Robb, before turning and walking away with the servants.

They cleared the room and she looked up at him, "What happened?" She asked him slowly, "You appear worried."

"I am worried," he sighed as he found himself wrapping his arms around her. It was comforting to have someone who he could share his worries with, who he could talk to. "We need to head North, as soon as possible. I have my orders," he smiled crookedly. "Queen Daenerys wants us to secure the North as quickly as possible."

"Oh," she looked out at the choppy waters. "Will we leave tonight?"

"No," he shook his head. "We will not leave tonight, instead we will leave as soon as we can get everything put together."

"Oh, of course," she nodded. "Will you leave to tell everyone?"

"I will have to," he pulled away from his wife, rubbing her arms with his hands as he stared down into her brown eyes. He could grow to love her, he wondered if his father had thought such a thing when he had stared at his mother in the beginning of their marriage. But the beginning of their marriage had a lot more trouble, his father had brought home a bastard son and his mother had given birth to him – they hardly had a chance to get to know her.

Not in the way Robb was getting to know his bride.

So far, his wife had shown no signs of being with child. He wanted her to be with child, he hoped that she had stopped taking the moon tea when he had asked. Though a child so early on in their marriage could cause issues, it was expected, and his parents had grown to love each other when they had a child so early on. He only hoped that he and his wife would come to love each other.

"I must go," he touched her cheek. "I will be with you later tonight."

"Of course," she nodded and slipped away.


	27. XXVII

**Ok so in this chapter Robb is a stubborn man, he is a still a Northerner who wishes to protect. Arya is twenty three but he still sees her as that twelve year old girl who left Winterfell to King's Landing. And while he knows she can fight, he is still a man of his times. Also he'd rather protect his wife, she could be carrying his heir and he needs that heir to secure Winterfell.**

 **So again they are heading North, sorry for all the ship time.**

 **Also last update I received the most scathing review, it really angered me. I didn't delete it or anything. Like honestly if you don't like what I'm writing or the concept, why are you reading? It's something for me to enjoy, I love AUs and I love to mess with different possibilities within the GOT universe which is why I have Whisper of Winds and another story coming. Which you've probably guess is hella AU and OOC. I LIKE TO MESS WITH THE UNIVERSE OK.**

 **Canon is boring at times, I like the what ifs.**

 **Anyway, like I said. If you don't like what I write, look for something else to read because I'm not going to change my ideas.**

 **I hope you enjoy, thank you for the support though xx**

* * *

 **XXVII**

 **ROBB**

 **DACEY** was the most furious out of all his people. She did not want to return to the North so quickly, not when they needed time to recover from their trip from Essos. Robb thought it odd as she had not seen her family in a long time, but he sat back and listened to her.

"We need to recover," Dacey explained to him, shaking her head. "Does Queen Daenerys not understand? We have just arrived from Essos, we cannot set sail again."

"But we must," Robb shook his head. "Unfortunately, we must leave to sail the North. And I would like to do it as soon as possible."

"I suppose," she breathed in deeply and shut her eyes. "I do wish to see my mother and sisters, I do miss them deeply."

"We all miss our family," Smalljon Umber rose to his feet and rolled his shoulders back. "Will we leave on the morrow?"

"Yes, we still have enough supplies to arrive in White Harbour without risk of death," Robb pressed his lips together. "I will send a letter on to White Harbour, I just hope that they will not betray us to the Boltons."

"You do not believe they would," Arya was horrified as she sat up, listening closely.

"I do not know what to believe, any longer," Robb shook his head. "But we cannot know that they did not turn to the Boltons in our absence. Unfortunately, I have been gone for much too long."

"We all have," Dacey sighed and let her head hang. "Will Queen Zhalli come with us?"

"Of course," Robb frowned. How else would he get his heir if his wife was leagues away from him? "It is time she views her new home, I also believe that several Dothraki will come with us."

That was good news to his men and women. There would be more soldiers that they could take to the North, that would guarantee them a stronger army and it was more likely that the Gods were working in their favour. Robb rubbed his hands together and noticed Queen Daenerys making her way down the steps toward them. Missandei, Grey Worm and Khal Drogo were with her. She smiled, appearing rather ethereal as she made her way toward them. They bowed but Robb did not, he was of equal status to the Queen so there was no need for him to bow.

"You are discussing your leave?" Queen Daenerys asked as she gazed at the faces of the Northerners and those who belonged to the Riverlands who stared at her.

"We are," Robb placed his hands on his hips. "We are prepared to leave in the morning. Are some of your Dothraki ready?"

"Yes," she then reached out to place her hand on her husband's shoulder. "Khal Drogo will go with you, he wishes to ride his men into battle. He fears that he will be rather unhappy if he is to remain on Dragonstone with me."

"I see," Robb nodded his head. "Very well then."

It seemed that the decision was made. They would leave on the morrow, Robb would lead them into battle against the Boltons and he would ensure that the North was strengthened once again. He felt rather overwhelmed and he looked toward the door, where his wife was standing. She looked about the room, her eyes roaming over the people who stood around.

"I cannot believe we are returning home," there was relief in Arya's voice. "I cannot wait to see Mother, Rickon and Sansa." There was something childlike on his sister's face, something he had not seen in a long time.

"You will," Robb assured her, a smile on his face. "Our family will be together again. All of our families will be together again."

"The North will be together again!" Smalljon stood up, announcing loudly.

"Aye!" The Northerners echoed, the Dothraki watching them closely.

"Zhalli," Daenerys greeted as his wife drew closer. "Are you excited to head to the North and see your new home?"

"Yes," she nodded as she moved even closer to Robb. The two of them did not touch, but they stood side by side as a sign of power others could look up to.

"I am not sure if you will enjoy the North," Arya frowned at her brother's wife. "But I am sure that you will come to love it. You will have to, Mother eventually did."

"I am sure that I can come to love it as much as the both of you do," his wife looked at him reassuringly. It was then that she reached out, her pinky finger rubbing against the back of his hand. No one noticed it, but it was comforting for Robb who reached out to grasp his wife's hand in his own.

It was then that his people did see it, they saw it as a sign of unity. It was no declaration of love between the couple, but it did show that the King and Queen of the North were united. It became a hope, especially to the romantic Dacey Mormont, that the two of them would come to love each other, that their marriage would be long, happy and prosperous. Zhalli looked up to her husband, smiled slightly before looking out at the faces at her husband's people. They were now her people, Robb hoped she realised that.

United, the Northerners were excited to return home. They would vanquish the Boltons, many of them had plans to burn the Dreadfort. He would get rid of the Boltons, once and for all. He would show the other Northerners what happened when they betrayed the Starks. Robb squeezed his wife's hand and she looked up to him, frowning at him. But he shook his head slightly, he would confide in her later when they were in private, he was not about to announce his fears in front of his men.

He was their King, he must appear strong to them.

"Come," he urged his sister and his wife. "I need to speak with the both of you."

"On what?" Arya frowned as she placed her hands on her hips.

"I want neither of you fighting," he informed the two of them.

"No," Arya shook her head. "I am going to help defend the North."

"Me too," Zhalli straightened her shoulders back and glowered up at her husband. "You will not stop us."

"Ramsay Snow is a cruel bastard," Robb snapped at the two of them. "He is most cruel to women, I will not have either of you captured by him."

"I would kill myself before I let him touch me," Arya's chest rose.

"As would I," Zhalli insisted.

"No, I will not have it," he shook his head. "The both of you will not fight. I will send you both to the Riverlands, to stay with Mother."

"I will not," Arya clenched her hands into fists. "I will defend the North. That is my home do you understand? That is my home and I refuse to have you turn me away from it. Robb, I am a Northerner just as much as you. I am going to defend the North, you cannot stop me."

His wife seemed to have a very similar attitude, "I will defend this place that will become my home. I will not allow you to stop me from doing this. I am no Lady of Westeros, I am not weak, and I do not need you to protect me as if I am a delicate little flower. That I am not."

"I know you are not," he sighed, breathing in deeply. "I only wish to protect the two of you. Do you both understand?"

"I do not accept your protection," Arya held up her hand. "I can protect myself, I have managed to do so for one and ten years."

"You may have done so for all the years that you have been gone," Robb placed a hand on his sister's shoulder. "But I wish to protect you until you are married."

"I do not wish to marry," she snapped at him. "Do you not understand that, brother?" It was then she left, brushing her shoulder against his and leaving.

"You understand why I must protect you?" Robb asked of his wife who was staring up at him, "You may carry my heir. I do not wish for you to lose your life."

"That is all?" She tilted her head to the side, "You only wish to protect me in case I carry your child?" She scowled, "I will not allow you to stop me, King Robb. I will help to fight for the North, I will not have you refuse me." It was then she turned and left, following Arya.

Robb was left staring after the two of them. What had he said that was so wrong? He only wished to protect them, he was sure his mother or Sansa would have no issue with it.

* * *

Neither his wife nor his sister spoke to him when they piled onto his ship. Robb felt as though he should have regretted what he said, but he could not take back the words. Was it so bad that he wanted to protect them both? Really, the battlefield was no place for a woman. He could not stop the Mormont women, he gathered he wold lose loyal bannermen if he was to stop them, but he could stop his wife and his sister.

They would be angry at him, until they managed to see it his way.

"I have never seen your wife so furious," Smalljon Umber crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the railing, watching the woman. "What did you say to her?"

"I just told her that I did not want her fighting, and I told Arya I also did not want her fighting," Robb frowned and placed his hands on his hips, "I do not understand why the two of them are making such a big deal out of it.

The two of them watched Zhalli. The woman was leaning against the railing and staring out at the water, as if the water would swallow her up and take her from the ship. Their eyes then turned to Arya who seemed as though she was sharpening some wood against the mast of the ship, Grey Wind was beside her feet and eyed anyone who came too close to her. Neither of them seemed particularly happy, but Robb found that he could not regret his words or how he had treated them.

"Well, I imagine you will not be welcomed into your wife's bed for a long while," Smalljon Snickered. "I imagine she will see fit to punish you."

"Hm," Robb turned his eyes back to his wife. She turned away from the railing and was about to move, when Dacey came to speak to her. Their heads were as close as they could be with Dacey towering over his slight wife. The two of them turned to look at them both and he flinched at the coldness in their gazes. "Neither of them are particularly happy over this."

"No," Smalljon laughed and reached up to clap his large hand on Robb's shoulders. "I think you will need to figure a way to fix this."

"I will have to try," Robb wished he had his father with him. His father could give him advice on how to handle an angry wife. After all, his mother had hated his father when he had revealed Jon and his parentage, somehow, he had managed to win her over and the two had fallen in love. What could he do to win his wife over?

"I would go over there and apologise to her," Smalljon recommended. "I personally would not risk apologising to your sister until she's calmed down, I believe she'll try to run you through with that wood she's sharpening. That'd be a very brutal way to go."

"Yes," Robb smoothed his hands down the railing. "Should I speak with my wife now?"

"It would be best you speak with her soon," Smalljon recommended to his King and friend. "I do not think that you will be welcomed to her bed if you are not to apologise. I cannot imagine it would be very pleasing to deal with an angry wife."

"No, it would not be," Robb looked to his wife who had stopped talking to Dacey and was heading up the stairs toward he and Smalljon. He sucked in a breath, "She is coming to speak with us, I guess I must apologise."

Zhalli wore horse hide trousers and a loose tunic that belonged to him. Her hair was braided in two thick braids that fell over the front of her shoulders. She looked between the two of them and stood off to the side, hands on her hips as she waited for one of them to speak. Robb could not speak, he felt rather guilty for his demand of his wife and his sister. But how could they not understand? That bothered him the most, surely, they must have known where he was coming from.

"Wife," Robb rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. "I must apologise."

"Apologise for what?" She stared up at him.

"For the way I treated you," he then looked to Smalljon. The man nodded and turned, heading down the stairs and to the front deck. "You must know that I only wish to protect you, and our future children. I cannot have you die in battle."

"But you would die in battle?" His wife challenged, "You would leave me alone, without an heir?"

"You could be carrying an heir now," Robb pressed his lips together. "We do not know."

"You cannot have such double standards in a marriage," his wife appeared frustrated. "We are supposed to be a partnership."

"That is not the way marriage works," his wife frowned at him. "Can you not see?"

"No," he frowned at her. "I do not understand why you cannot be more like my mother."

"I am not your mother," Zhalli scowled at him. "If you had wished to marry a woman who was like your mother, perhaps you should not have agreed to our marriage. You should have married a lady from Westeros."

"But I could not," he shook his head. "I had to agree to this."

"You had to agree," she seemed infuriated at the words and Robb did not understand. He was confused, he needed Maege Mormont or his mother to clearly explain to him why she was so angered.

"Yes, you also had to agree," he shook his head. "But I do not regret my decision."

He reached out to touch her, but she darted out of his reach.

"You do not have the right to touch me," she scowled, "Not until you apologise."

"Apologise for what?" Robb called after her as she turned away from him and headed back down the stairs, toward the deck.

Perhaps he was a fool, or perhaps they were just not telling him clear enough. Robb Stark did not seem to understand what was the problem, what was so wrong with him wanting to keep them safe? It was only natural, if they were Southern woman I'm sure they would understand. Perhaps he needed someone else to explain to them, Dacey? He looked to the woman who was standing with Arya who turned to glower at Robb every now and then. Dacey looked furiously at him.

Not Dacey then.

Unfortunately, Queen Daenerys was not there so she could not help him explain to them. He would have to do it on his own. Still, he had no way of explaining to them his reasoning behind his actions, they would just have to accept it. To take his mind off his unhappy wife and sister, Robb concentrated all his efforts on steering the ship. His hands cupped the steering wheel as he kept his eyes on the horizon. The seas would grow choppier as they came closer to the cold, icy waters of the North. There the air would become colder too, only Northerners were fit to sail in such weather.

The wind blew through his hair and Robb released one hand from the wheel, reaching up to pull his band that held his hair back out. His reddish-brown curls fell well below his shoulders now, tumbling out and flying in the wind as he steered the ship. Robb was too much in his element to notice that some of the Dothraki women had stopped what they were doing to admire his presence. Before he was married Robb would have enjoyed their stares, but after his marriage he realised he no longer wanted for other women.

Turning the wheel, he continued to move the ship around Westeros and looked out for any ships that held the Lannister crest. He did not want to fight with them, not when he had so many on board and he wanted to get to the North. But if they attempted to stop him he would have to attack, and he would attack with all his might. He would show the Dothraki why he had earnt himself the title of Pirate King, something he had not done since he had arrived in Westeros.

Robb was beginning to miss it.

"Your Grace," one of his men came running up the stairs toward him and Robb straightened his shoulders.

"What is it man?"

"Your wife is ill in your cabin," the man crossed his arms over his chest. "Lady Dacey and Princess Arya are with her."

"Hold the wheel man," Robb requested as he stepped back. "I will be back." Robb hurried down the stairs and turned toward the cabin door. Once he turned the handle and let himself in, he noticed it was dark. "Zhalli?" He called his wife's name, it was so foreign on his tongue.

The only response he got was a whack to the back of his head and down he went, his eyes sliding shut.

* * *

"Who knew he was so heavy?" Robb heard a voice grunt.

"He is a warrior," an accented voice reminded the first voice.

"Hmph, he will always be my skinny brother to me," the first voice answered. It was very much like Arya's voice.

"He is not so skinny now," a third voice chimed in.

Robb groaned.

"He is waking," the accented voice gasped, and Robb's eyes flickered open, frowning as three feminine faces crowded around him.

"W-what?" His voice croaked, his head was pounding.

"We are sorry," his wife placed a hand on his thigh. "But you must listen to us."

"I am not sorry," Arya snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. "How can I ever be sorry?"

"Arya," Dacey warned the girl who only rolled her eyes.

"What have you done to me?" Robb demanded as he rocked, his arms were tied behind his back and he could not move his legs. "Why can I not move?"

"I apologise, husband," his wife's voice was soft. "But we did not want you to storm out on us."

"Why would I storm out on you?" He demanded, "That is no reason to tie me up!"

"I am afraid it is," she patted his thigh sympathetically. "We need to speak with you, we cannot have you leaving."

"What did you wish to speak about that requires me to be tied to a chair?" He gave them all a dull look.

"It is in regard to the war that we will face in the North," his wife spoke calmly. He watched her, taking her in differently than he was used to. "We all wish to fight, and we will not have you stop us."

"I just need you to understand why I do not wish you both to fight," he did not include Dacey, she could fight all she wished. His sister and his wife were a very different story.

"Oh no," Arya's voice was sarcastic. "We very know why you do not wish us to fight. Zhalli could be very well carrying your heir, whereas I am your little sister. You wish to protect us, as if we are little Southern ladies that cannot save themselves. You have such a boorish, mannish opinions that belong to lesser men."

"I must thank you," Robb rolled his eyes. "You cannot force me to let you fight."

"And you cannot force us to not fight," Arya moved closer to her brother. "Surely you are not so idiotic to believe that any of us will follow your orders."

"But I am your King!" He insisted, glowering at his younger sister.

"Zhalli is Queen," she motioned to the woman who was crouched beside him. "She can do as she likes, and I can do as I like, you cannot tell me what to do anymore Robb. I have tasted freedom and I will not have it taken from me, Robb."

"I am not trying to take your freedom from you," he frowned at the woman who stared down at him, watching him closely. "I do not want to take the freedom from any of you. I only wish to protect you; how do you not understand that?"

"I mean, we have a vague understanding," Dacey shrugged her shoulders. "I appreciate you allowing me to fight. But you must understand that none of us are weak, we are all warriors, we are not women who need any sort of protection. Surely you must know that."

"But Zhalli does need some sort of protection," he protested. "She may be carrying my heir."

"And if she is in fact carrying your heir I am sure she will not fight," Lady Dacey looked to Zhalli expectantly.

The woman frowned but nodded, "In Dothraki culture we ride horses until we give birth. I have seen women fight, whilst they are heavy with child. But if it will please you, once we know for certain and my belly grows round, I will not fight."

"Good," he breathed out a sigh of relief. "That is all I needed to hear."

"So you will not stop us from fighting?" Arya crossed her arms over her chest. "Because I cannot have you trying to stop me from taking back our home."

Robb knew that he was defeated, he would not be able to stop them. "You will fight," he sighed. "Let me out of this," he then began to tug at the ropes. He could not believe that the three of them had overpowered him and tied him up so that he would listen. Whose idea was it? He eyed the three women closely, perhaps it was his sister's idea.

"Good," Arya grinned widely. "I am glad that you have come to agree with us."

Robb did not believe he had a choice but to agree with them, "Well, yes." He then grunted, trying to shift in his uncomfortable binds. "Now will you release me? There is no need for me to be placed in these ropes any longer, I have conceded to your demands."

"I think we should just leave him in for a little longer," Arya finally said to the two women who looked at her. "Perhaps over night, I am sure he will learn a valuable lesson not to anger us."

"I have learnt that lesson!" He snarled at his younger sister, "And I apologise for wanting to protect you. Now will you please release me? I no longer wished to be tied up like this, it is very uncomfortable."

"We should release him," his wife finally said and moved forward with a dagger.

"You give in to him so easily," Arya rolled her eyes. "You should let him squirm for at least a little while."

"It is not fair, he has agreed," his wife said over her shoulder as she began to cut the ropes.

"Fine, let him go," Arya waved her hand. "I am just glad that he has come to agree. You will not come to regret it," Robb was sure that he would come to regret allowing his wife and sister to fight.

He rose from the seat and rubbed his wrists, his wife peering at him sympathetically. "Lady Dacey, sister, I must ask that you both leave."

"Of course," Arya rolled her eyes and began to stride out of the cabin. "You two enjoy your night," she clicked her tongue before letting the door close behind her.

"Apologies," Dacey said as she stood at the door. "I wish we had not had to do that, but you left them both no choice."

"Yes, well," Robb nodded at her. "I will see you on the morrow Dacey."

"Goodnight, Your Graces," she bowed her head before slipping out into the darkness.

"I must apologise," his wife came to lay a hand on top of his wrist. "I had not thought to tie you, but I had agreed that we would keep you here until you listened."

"Well, you all did a very good job," he muttered as he moved away and came to sit on the edge of their bed.

"Thank you," his wife's voice was sincere as she stood above him.

"I understand why you thought it necessary," he looked up at her as she stood in front of him. "You wanted me to listen, and I understand why. I was being stubborn, you thought that I did not trust or believe in either of you. But you must know that it is my duty to protect you, and any heirs that come from your womb."

"I know this," his wife cleared her throat. "But that does not mean you can stop us from going to battle, we only wish to help. The North is to be my home, why can I not help you gain it back?"

Robb took a deep breath and motioned for his wife to sit beside him. She did so, and he came to place his hand on her thigh, patting it lightly. "I accept that you will come to help us, but if you are to become with child then I will ensure that you are not on the battlefield."

"Us Dothraki are different," his wife began carefully. "But I will listen to you, I will not fight if I am with child."

"Good," he sighed and moved to pull off his tunic. "Now, it is late, and we must rest."

"Of course," his wife laid beside him and allowed him to place his head on her breasts. She began to move her fingers through his curls, and he was reminded of his mother. He missed his family, but it would be long before he saw them again.

"I appreciate you, Zhalli," he reached up to grasp her hand and moved to press a kiss against her hand. "I really do appreciate you."


End file.
